The Line
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Some lines are never meant to be crossed, but once they are, the edges tend to get blurred, making each journey over them, seemingly easier…and deceivingly less wrong.
1. Chapter 1

The Line

By: Ridley

Disclaimer: Nothing belonging to Supernatural is mine and alas no money was made from this small production.

Summary: Some lines are never meant to be crossed, but once they are, the edges tend to get blurred, making each journey over them, seemingly easier…and deceivingly less wrong.

_A/N : Warning: This started out as a gratuitous attempt at hurt/comfort and just a little something to overcome some pesky writer's block. If you are searching for the elusive great white plot, it may not be found here. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking about morality and the things one may be brought to do, in order to save another. NO Sammys were actually hurt in the making of this story. _

_A/A/N: This story has my AU version of Caleb, so if you haven't read Heroes, it might help. Although I don't think it's necessary. **Important Notice: **Reviews have been known to cure illnesses such as the dreaded Writers Block, and Self Recriminating Critics Curse. Please contribute to these worthy causes. Save a Writer today. _

_**Do you really think that it is weakness that yields to temptations? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to. -Oscar Wilde **_

"You're crazy, Duran," John Winchester shook his head at the man's unreasonable request. "You brought me here for this nonsense. I thought lives were in danger."

"Lives are always in danger, John."

"And that makes you happy?"

The medium smiled, his dark eyes giving no sign of humor or teasing. "If people didn't die, I'd dare say that I'd be out of business. So would you for that matter."

"I deal in putting the dead to rest, not resurrecting them. And I sure as hell don't profit from someone else's misery. "

"I'm not asking you to resurrect anyone, _Saint John_. Just assist in finding what I need to do the job. I know you have contacts."

"I don't mess with black magic, and neither do the people that I associate with."

"There's a first time for everything, my friend." Duran motioned towards the large living room of the pent house suite. The two of them had moved their conversation to the master bed room for privacy. "Surely you can understand a man's desire to have his son back."

"The man's son is dead, Duran!" John tried to keep his voice low, but its volume was growing, right along with his frustration. "You giving him a reanimated corpse is not going to bring his child back."

"I'm not dealing in necromancy here, John. It's more like body sharing. And his quest is not so different from your own. He's trying to wrong an injustice done to his family. To seek revenge and gain redemption."

John raked both hands through his dark hair, mostly to keep them from around Duran's throat. "Caleb was right. I was an idiot for coming here."

"Speaking of Caleb," Duran's gleam turned feral. "I think he could be useful in this little hunt. Don't you? All that muscle should come in handy in the second phase. "

Winchester's dark eyes hardened, a warning flashing dangerously. "He's already on a hunt."

"Right," Duran nodded. "With Dean."

There was no need for John to mention that the two of them would be back later that day. No one in his family was going to be helping Hughes with this gig. "And even if he wasn't, he doesn't think too highly of you. I think the words bastard and crazy son of a bitch were tossed around quite a bit. I doubt if he'd be willing to jump into bed with you on this little disaster in the making."

"I can't say that I haven't tried to persuade Caleb to 'jump into bed with me' on occasion," Duran smiled again, his lewd insinuation causing the hairs on the back of John'sneck to stand at attention, making him more sure than ever that he'd made a grave mistake by attempting to hear Duran out. "But you're right, he doesn't appreciate my type or my talents, I'm afraid."

"You and that witch of yours should give this man his money back and cut your losses before someone gets hurt." John started out of the room, having heard all he was willing to. For some reason he had a sudden urge for a hot, scalding shower. The hunter quickly made his way back to where he'd left Sam with Mr. Kline and Syria.

"Sam, we're leaving."

The sixteen-year-old sat the glass he was drinking from down on the small silver tray on a table near Syria and stood. "Dad?"

"There's nothing we can do here." John looked at the white-haired man who had also stood at his announcement. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Kline. But I can't be a part of this."

"But Mr. Hughes spoke highly of you. He said you have a reputation for being one of the best in your field."

John sighed. "Mr. Kline, do you even know what my 'field' is?"

"Hunting." Kline answered, looking as if he'd just been forced to swallow a very bitter pill. "I believe you call it hunting."

"That's right. I hunt things that hurt people."

"This item that we are searching for will not be used to cause harm."

John shook his head sadly. "I also destroy things that don't belong in this world-that weren't meant to walk among the living. Do you understand that your son no longer belongs in this world?"

"Do you understand how much money I'm willing to pay to have you help Duran with this, Mr. Winchester?"

John looked at Syria, who carefully twirled a long strand of dark hair around her finger, and licked her lips like a cat who'd just swallowed a very precious canary. She was enjoying the display much like a feline enjoys toying with his next meal. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Hughes, I'm not willing to cross certain lines for money."

"I see," Kline straightened his Armani suit coat and his face hardened in a way that let John know the man wasn't use to not getting his way. "Then it is I who am sorry…for wasting your time."

John nodded. "Let's go, Sammy."

"Bye, Sam," Syria purred, and the teen's face reddened slightly.

"See ya," He lifted a hand to her and grinned, thinking of how pissed his brother was going to be that he'd missed a chance to once again try and woo Duran's partner.

Duran entered the room as John opened the door that led to the elevator. The hunter motioned his youngest son through, and started through himself. Hughes' melodic voice stopped him. "If you change your mind, John, you know how to reach me."

John glanced at the man. "I won't be changing my mind." He then turned to Kline. "But I really suggest that you do, Mr. Kline. I can understand your pain, but you have no idea what you're asking for. The heartache you're feeling now won't even begin to compare."

"Apparently, you've never lost a child, sir," Kline said in a clipped tone, turning his back on the hunter, to stare out the huge glass windows affording a spectacular view of the city below.

"No, I haven't." John sighed wearily, looked at Duran once more. "I'll be telling Jim about this."

The younger man laughed. "You do that, John. I'm sure the cleric will have some sermon for me. He usually does. He might even try to take my membership card away like last time."

Syria slinked her way from the plush chair she had been curled in and wrapped herself around  
Duran's arm. "Was that when he disapproved of me, Love?"

"Yes, I believe it was."

John shook his head. "Maybe you should take a lesson from Caleb, Duran. Get a little pickier about who you crawl into the sack with." With that he was gone.

"I'm going to enjoy watching him suffer," Syria whispered, once the door was closed between them.

Duran patted her hand. "Remember, my pet, this is business, not pleasure."

"So what now, Hughes?" Kline poured himself a scotch from the well-stocked mini-bar. "You said Winchester was the best. I expect the best. I'm paying enough for it."

"And you shall have him," Duran replied. He tapped his forehead. "I've seen as much."

"And I don't have to be privy to your psychic crap to see the kind of man John Winchester is. He doesn't have a price, Hughes."

"Everyone has a price. Why just look what you're willing to pay me to have your son back at your side."

"That's different." Kline took a long drink of the amber liquid, steeling himself. "A son is not measurable in riches."

"Exactly." Hughes looked at Syria and grinned, before turning to Kline once more. "Did you know that John Winchester has two sons?"

"I met the one boy." Kline frowned. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Only everything." Duran made his way around the huge leather couch and sat in the chair that Sam had vacated. "Did you also know that my dear Syria has ancestors in Haiti? Her great, great grandmother was a powerful Priestess there."

"So?"

Duran picked up the glass that Sam had been drinking from. "Syria has inherited many of her dear departed grandmother's talents. Not only her breathtaking beauty, but her ability to create amazing potions and spells."

"And that's going to help me, how?" Kline moved closer, glancing from the smiling Syria to Duran.

"It's going to give John Winchester empathy to your cause. Sometimes a man needs to walk in another's shoes before he can understand the depth of the other's suffering."

The lines etched into the successful entrepreneur's forehead deepened. "She did something to that boy?"

"Nothing that we can't cure." Duran swirled what was left of the tea. "For the right price."

"I didn't intend for anyone to be hurt, especially a child, Hughes."

"Come now, Mr. Kline. Don't grow an ethical code on me now. Do you want your son back or not?"

The man hesitated, running his free hand through his thinning gray hair. "I want Scott back."

"Then a little blood on your hands shouldn't bother you. As long as you've been in the business world- as rich as you are- I suspect it won't be the first."

"I don't want the boy to die." Kline spoke softly.

Duran shrugged. "That's not up to you. It rests entirely on the head of the high and mighty John Winchester. And trust me…" Hughes rolled his eyes in disgust, "He'll do the right thing."

_Chapter 2- Coming Monday. _


	2. Chapter 2

The Line

Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who wrote reviews. I was very surprised and thrilled that it was well received. Now I'm kind of worried about disappointing everyone. Also, thanks to Tidia, who chatted morality and ethics with me more today. Lucky that her and Mog's story Dogtown kind of touches on the same thing. And, I'm offering up two chapters today, because chapter two is more of a bridge scene. Thanks again. Enjoy. _

_**There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves , we feel no on else has a right to blame us.-Oscar Wilde**_

John Winchester cursed the five o'clock, bustling traffic for about the tenth time. He slammed the palm of his hand into the Impala's steering wheel, glaring at the long line of cars, twisting like an endless metallic snake before him. "I hate New York," He growled.

Sam snorted. "You just hate the Yankees."

John cut his eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Only when they play the Red Sox."

The teen rolled his eyes, knowing exactly why his father was angry. "And you also hate it when Caleb's right, huh?"

His father glanced at the road again. "I didn't say he was right."

"Then why didn't you take the job?"

"Because Duran is a freak."

Sam laughed. "Freak? What? Are you channeling Dean now?"

John shrugged. "Maybe I miss him. A little. " He turned to Sam. "But if you tell him I said that, you'll never see seventeen. Got it?"

The younger Winchester nodded, and glanced out the passenger window, watched the cold steel and glass rushing by. "I miss him, too."

"He and Caleb should be back tonight." John sighed as the traffic flow started up once again. "When I talked to Caleb this morning he said that they were just getting on the road."

"Everything went okay?"

"Sounds like." John chanced a look at his youngest son. "You still pissed about not going?"

The teen continued to look out the window, not willing to rehash the argument he and his father had gone through when he'd wanted to go with Dean and Caleb.John had been unreasonable, as usual. Nothing Sam said made a difference. John Winchester always knew best. "So, Caleb _was_ right about Duran." Sam felt a little vindicated when he saw his father grimace.

John tightened his hold on the steering wheel. "You're not going to let it go until I say it, are you?"

"Nope," Sam finally looked at his father.

"Alright then. Caleb was right. Duran didn't need help with a vengeful spirit. He wanted to bring Kline's son back."

"Is that possible?" Sam turned in his seat. "Wouldn't that make him like a zombie?"

"Apparently, Duran has a _living_ body lined up."

Sam frowned. "They're going to swap souls, or allow the spirit of Kline's son to possess the body? Can that be done-on a permanent basis? Possessions usually destroy the human form, eventually."

John shook his head. "Honestly, son, I don't know. And I don't want to know."

"What did Duran want from you?"

"He may be a strong medium, but just because he can contact the dead, doesn't mean he can hold them here on this plane. That takes something very powerful."

"And he thinks you know where to find something like that?"

John nodded, grimly. "I suppose he did."

"Do you?" Sam carefully watched his father's face in the fading light of day. The sharp planes and rugged lines gave away nothing.

"Are you hungry?" John asked, breaking the silence and effectively changing the subject, as well as ending the conversation without any resolution. "Because I'm starving. How about we grab some steaks and use that fancy grill of Mac's?"

"Whatever, Dad." Sam turned back to look out at the sunset, a sudden ache to see his brother overwhelming him. The physical intensity of the longing almost brought his hand up to his chest as the muscles there seemed to clench in pain and his heart sped up. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the window, taking some solace in the feel of the road as it hummed through his brother's car.

John glanced over at the teen and sighed. Once again he'd managed to say the wrong thing. He would be glad when Dean got back, if only for the buffer he offered between him and Sam. It hadn't been a pleasant three days, and John had doubted his own stubborn decision to not let Sam go on the hunt with his brother on more than one occasion .

After all, it wasn't like John didn't trust Dean. His oldest had watched out for Sam for sixteen years, doing a damn better job at parenting than he had. Maybe John didn't want him to go, just because Sam _wanted_ to go. And if that were the case, then John would have just one more thing to be pissed at Caleb about. It really did irk him when the man was right.


	3. Chapter 3

_**The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness. -Joseph Conrad. **_

"Tell me you have one of those with my name on it," Caleb Reaves groaned as he limped through the door of his father's Manhattan apartment. He gestured to John, who sat kicked back on the couch holding a plate with a big ass New York Strip draped across it. It was flanked by a huge baked potato, and joined by a sweating bottle from Mac's favorite secret stash of imported beer.

"Tell me you brought my son back looking better than your sorry ass." John put the plate on the table and raked his eyes over the younger man. "I thought the job went off without a hitch?"

Caleb's chin-length dark hair obscured some of the damage, but John could make out the deep bruising on one cheek, as well as a row of stitches across one brow. "Oh this wasn't from the hunt."

John shook his head. "Let me guess. A bar fight?"

Caleb grinned, lone dimple and white teeth flashing. "Don't worry, your baby got out unscathed as usual."

"That's because I'm younger, faster, and a better pool shark than you." Dean added as he too entered the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. The younger hunter dropped his bags and grinned cheekily as he passed Caleb. "Not to mention a whole hell of a lot better looking, Reaves."

"Keep telling yourself that, Deuce."

"Oh, I don't have to. The ladies whisper it in my ear everywhere we go."

Caleb glared at John. "Next time, I'm taking Sam and leaving him here, no matter what you say. Do you realize he never shuts up?"

"And Sammy would be a lot less competition for him, seeing as how he barely just started shaving." Dean smirked, glancing around the room. "Speaking of which, where is the little guy?"

John snorted. "If you're referring to the six-foot-four brooding life form you call a brother , he went to bed."

"Guess I should go tuck him in, tell him about all the fun he missed." Dean pulled his coat off, tossed it on the back of the couch before rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "And give him all the gory details on how I saved Caleb's ass from the psycho succubus."

"Go ahead." Caleb waved a dismissive hand in the air as he sank into one of the over-stuffed chairs, and placed his boots on the coffee table. "I'm sure he's use to your outlandish, far-fetched bedtime stories, Captain Onehelluva Bullshitter."

"Funny," Dean flipped him the bird. "But you only wish you were Grimm worthy."

Caleb rolled his head towards John once Dean disappeared down the hall. "Don't ever make me do that again."

"What?" John had retrieved his plate and resumed his meal during the typical banter. He took a bite of his dinner, and motioned with his fork. "You said you needed back-up."

"No. _You_ said that I needed back-up."

"And was I right?"

Caleb grabbed John's beer before the older man could. He took a long pull from it and sighed. "Was I right about Duran?"

John took the beer away from him. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to answer a question with a question? Or more importantly not to mess with another man's beer?"

"I've heard the one about not messing with another man's woman." The younger hunter smiled, and motioned to his bruised face. "Just this weekend, in fact."

Winchester rolled his eyes. "Aren't you a little old for all that shit?"

"I'm still in my prime," Caleb grimaced as he shifted and his ribs protested. "And you're changing the subject. Duran- he wanted you to play fast and dirty, didn't he?"

"It was a waste of my time."

"I'll take that for a resounding 'yes' in John speak." Caleb raised an eyebrow. "What'd the sick son of a bitch want?"

The older hunter sighed. "He's got his hands in some rich man's pocket. Poor bastard wants to bring his son back from the other side."

"Shit." Caleb leaned forward, pushed his hair out of his face. "That's pretty seedy even for Hughes."

"Yeah."

"Guess you told him where to put his necromancing delusions?"

The older hunter nodded. "But he didn't seem all that surprised." John took a swig of the beer. "In fact, he didn't act too upset by my refusal."

"Which means he hasn't given up."

John frowned. "I made myself real clear."

"Yeah, well, Hughes doesn't like to be told no."

"He knows me well enough to know I won't change my mind."

"That's what worries me."

"You think he'd try something?"

" I just think maybe you and the boys should cut your trip to the big city short."

John snorted. "You just want the Ritz to yourself again."

Caleb grinned. "Mac's not out of town very often anymore, and this place sure beats the hell out of two bit motel rooms. But as tempting as it is, that's not the reason."

"You really think Duran would go against one of his own?"

"Duran's not loyal to the brotherhood. I have my doubts that he's even human, and that's saying a lot coming from me."

"What happened between you two?" John asked, trying to sound casual.

Caleb shrugged, blinked quickly but John knew _him_ too well to miss the swirl of emotion that swept through the clear greenish, gold eyes. "What makes you think something happened?"

"Because you don't usually discount unconventional methods of hunting, especially if there is a big payoff."

"Why John, are you trying to flatter me, or is that your round about way of calling me a savage."

"I'm just saying that sometimes you put the end before the means."

"True," Caleb acquiesced. "But I don't put gain before loyalty."

"True," John nodded. He licked his lips, picked up his beer again, and killed it, trying to decide if he should say what was on his mind.The idea of his imagination supplying its own answers convinced him it was a worthy risk.

"If there was something…I mean if Duran had done something to you…" He looked at Caleb, feeling like an idiot, but still needing some kind of reassurance. The man before him was a proficient hunter, a dangerous killer of all things evil, but sometimes, John couldn't help but to see him as the scrawny fourteen-year-old kid that Mac had drug into their fold all those years ago. It was hard for him to reconcile that image with the twenty-nine year old currently in front of him. "Did... he hurt you?"

To his credit, Caleb didn't laugh at John's fumbling attemps at the difficult conversation , but he did react in typical fashion. He gave John that half-assed grin that the older hunter's own son, Dean, had somehow inherited. "Would you kick his ass if he did?"

"Damn it, Caleb, I'm serious."

The younger hunter shrugged. "I dealt with men like Duran before becoming a hunter, Johnny. I'm a big boy. And I'm psychic. Not much he could pull over on me."

John recognized the evasion. "That's not an answer."

It was as close to one as he was going to get, because Caleb suddenly pushed himself from the chair, motioned to the steak. "So, did you grill more of those or not? I'm hungry enough to risk your cooking for a change."

Apparently John Winchester was not the only master of conversational subterfuge. " There's plenty." John nodded, lifted his beer with a sigh. "Bring me another one of these while you're at it." He'd been an idiot to even attempt such a discussion.

Caleb took the bottle. "Mac's going to kick our asses if we finish off his secret stash."

"Since when are we afraid of Mac? What's he going to do? Lecture us to death?"

"Good point." Caleb turned to go, but then stopped and looked at John, his smile fading. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever leave Sam alone with Duran. Okay?"

John held the other hunter's solemn gaze, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it hadn't been such a stupid move. "Okay."

"Don't trust the witch, either."

"Caleb…" John started, but the other hunter's shit-eating grin was already back in place, the haunted look gone from his eyes as quickly as it had come.

"I'd keep Dean away from that barracuda, that's for sure, " He joked.

Winchester rolled his eyes, deciding to let it drop. "Even Dean has better sense than to mess with her."

The other hunter laughed as he made his way towards the kitchen. "Are you sure you even know your son?"

Chapter 4-Wednesday, at the latest.


	4. Chapter 4

The Line

Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. For those I have not thanked individually yet, double thanks to you.

_**The lust for power, for dominating others, inflames the heart more than any other passion. -Tacitus**_

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"_Don't ever leave Sam alone with Duran. Okay?"_

_John held the other hunter's solemn gaze, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it hadn't been such a stupid move. "Okay."_

"_Don't trust the witch, either."_

"_Caleb…" John started, but the other hunter's shit-eating grin was already back in place, the haunted look gone from his eyes as quickly as it had come._

"_I'd keep Dean away from that barracuda, that's for sure, " He joked._

_Winchester rolled his eyes, deciding to let it drop. "Even Dean has better sense than to mess with her."_

_The other hunter laughed as he made his way towards the kitchen. "Are you sure you even know your son?"_

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"So, what was she wearing?" Dean asked from his position on the side of the king-sized bed.

Sam rolled his eyes, putting down the book he'd been reading when his brother had burst in. "I don't remember."

"Please," Dean scoffed, picking up the book and tossing it on the nightstand. "Geek boy or not, you're still _sixteen_. Tell me what she was wearing."

Sam's lop-sided grin appeared. He remembered every detail, but loved drawing it out. "Black dress. Well, more like an over-sized, skin-tight, t-shirt."

"Oh man," Dean groaned. "Show-casing those lovely legs that go on forever, right?"

"Yep," Sam nodded, enjoying torturing his brother. "It was cut down to here, too." Sam gestured below his chest.

"No way!" Dean motioned for his brother to scoot over so he could recline back on the bed. His mind easily conjured the plummeting neckline accentuating Syria's ample cleavage. "Did Sammy cop a look?" He bobbed his eyebrows at his little brother.

The teen's face reddened. "No!" He said in a huff, but then caved when Dean elbowed him. "Well, a little when she served me my tea. She wasn't wearing a bra." He added gleefully.

"Damn," Dean sighed in envy. "Was she wearing heels? Those spiky ones she had on last time?"

Sam nodded. "They were red. And she had on that little silver ankle bracelet with the bells."

"Kill me now." Dean threw an arm over his eyes. "I could have sent you with Caleb and spent the evening with a goddess, instead of Satan's son."

Sam laughed. "You wouldn't have even gotten to go up to bat, Dean, let alone scored. Duran barely let her out of his sight."

"What does she see in that dude?" Dean looked at his brother. "So what if he's got the GQ look. He is by far the creepiest of Dad's friends."

"I don't think he and Dad are friends. They didn't seem to be on the best of terms tonight."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Oh, I definitely could like being friends with Syria, no matter the terms."

Sam snorted. "I don't know, man. She's pretty and all, but she's kind of creepy herself. Like Elvira, but with less makeup. She kept staring at me the whole time I was there, and all I could think of was how Pastor Jim wouldn't let her come in his house. Remember? He made us perform a purifying ritual on the screened porch."

Dean opened one eye and glanced at his brother. "Dude, as smoking hot as she is, she could be Dracula's bride and I'd still bang her."

"Where'd the romance go, Dean?" Sam asked with a wry grin.

"Hey, I'd burn sage. Romantic and Pastor Jim would be happy."

Sam laughed. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, well, you're a sap. _Romance_." Dean rolled his eyes in mock disgust. "What does sex have to do with romance? If you do everything right, the last thing the woman should be thinking about is hearts and flowers. Nope. I'll leave that sensitive, poet role to you, kiddo. I prefer to be the direct, physical type. And just so you know, she was probably staring at you, wondering how in the hell I got all the looks in the family."

Sam picked up a pillow and whacked his brother with it. "Nice."

"Ah, the truth hurts." Dean caught the pillow and slung it roughly back at the younger boy. "Don't feel bad though, Sammy. Some girls dig brains over brawn and sex appeal."

Sam raised his hand to deflect the blow, entirely bent on retaliating with another strike and a quick insult, but instead found himself caught off guard as a sharp pain lanced through his side. The intensity of it stole his breath and nearly had him doubling over. "God," He grit out, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Come off it, Sammy," Dean growled. "I didn't even throw it hard, big baby."

The knife-like sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come, but Sam felt his heart-rate speed up, a feeling of nausea creep into the pit of his stomach. "Dean?" He breathed, still not trusting his body enough to sit up straight.

"I'm not falling for it," Dean said warily. "Look all innocent and shit all you want, but I know how damn tricky you are. I have a few scars to prove it."

Sam risked opening his eyes, looking over at his brother. His gaze must have revealed a hint of what he had felt because Dean's face instantly changed, clouded over with worry. Gone was the aloof, bad boy smirk replaced by one of the concerned big brother that Sam had counted on his entire life.

"Sammy?" Dean placed a hand on his kid brother's shoulder. "You okay?"

The contact gave Sam enough confidence to sit up straight again, take a shallow breath. "I think so." He said after no other assault hit him, still a faint ache echoed beneath his rib cage.

"What happened?"

"My stomach," The teen licked his lips. "I had a sharp pain."

"Have you been sick?"

"A little queasy since Dad and I got back from the meeting with Duran."

Dean tightened his hold and forced a weak smile. "Damn. You didn't eat any of Dad's cooking, did you?"

Sam smirked. "Do I look insane? I grilled the steaks, but I didn't feel like eating."

"That's good to hear-that _you _cooked, I mean. I'm starving."

"Your concern is touching, man." Sam rubbed at the spot on his side, frowning.

Dean continued to grin at him, although the way his eyes held Sam's belied the sentiment. "Of course, it could be love sickness." Dean raised a brow. "You're not secretly mooning over Syria are you? Like that time with Crystal Holland your freshman year?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Hey, I'm just saying…" Dean held up his hands. " I mean you can talk to me about anything-even your pathetic attempts at seduction , little brother."

"You'll be the last person I come to about love, after that whole kissing fiasco."

Dean's smile widened, became more genuine. "I didn't think you'd actually try it."

"I was thirteen. I thought you knew everything."

Dean started to reply, started to breathe just a little easier now that the all-too familiar fist of fear started to loosen its grip on his heart, when Sam winced again.

"It still hurting?"

The teen nodded, biting his lip to hold back a verbal expression of the pain Dean could clearly see written on his face.

It wasn't as sharp this time, more like a steady drumming against his ribs instead of the hot lancing from before, but Sam still felt sweat slick his palms, heard the rush of blood in his ears. "I'm okay," He said, feeling anything but. The sixteen-year-old forced himself to relax, breathing steadily through his nose. Years of hunting had done nothing if not taught him and his brother how to deal with pain.

"Sure you are." Dean attempted to reach a hand out and lay it against his forehead, but Sam moved away.

"I don't have a fever."

"Then what's wrong?" Sam heard a bit of frustration in the other boy's voice and something else-weariness. After all, he and Caleb had probably driven most of the day without stopping. And knowing the two of them any time not on the hunt was probably spent in a bar, instead of a hotel room sleeping.

"It's nothing. I probably just pulled a muscle or something working out in Mac's gym." Sam glanced to the clock on the wall, amazed that it was almost nine. "Why don't you go ahead and get something to eat before Caleb and Dad finish it off? I thought you were starved."

"You trying to get rid of me already. I just got home."

Sam smirked. "I barely noticed you were gone."

"Sure you did." Dean continued to stare at him, like Sam was as easy to see through as glass. He jerked his head towards the door. "You going to grace us with your presence? I'll make Caleb tell you how he got his ass kicked by three biker dudes, and one really mean chick."

Sam shook his head, not wanting to tempt fate by moving around too much. "As interesting as that sounds…I think I'll just try to get some sleep."

The older hunter held his brother's gaze for a moment and Sam knew he was being thoroughly scanned before his brother finally nodded and stood up. "You want me to bring you anything?"

Sam smiled, the relief of having the older boy home and acting so Dean-like actually pushing some of his discomfort away. "You offering to serve me dinner in bed, big brother?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No. I was thinking about bringing you some virgins, instead. Get your mind off of Syria, break that spell she cast on you."

"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay."

"Suit yourself," Dean paused at the door, glancing back to his kid brother. "But if you change your mind, yell."

The words were teasing, but Sam heard the meaning still. '_If you need me, I'll be right outside_.' It was a sentiment the younger boy had come to count on. Dean was always there, always watching out for him.

But as the door closed, separating the two of them, something tickled at Sam's mind. It taunted from just outside his conscious reach. A voice of uncertainty whispered that there were some things that even big brothers couldn't protect a person from. The teen had yet to find one, but the ache in his gut warned that there was a first time for everything.

_Chapter 5-Coming Friday _


	5. Chapter 5

The Line

Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, this chapter is longer, as per request. I'm so easily swayed by reviews. I suspect subliminal messages are implanted in some, I just have no way to prove it. Truly, thanks for all the reviews, and I am trying to reply individually, but for those I miss, you are very appreciated.

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_The words were joking, but Sam heard the meaning still. 'If you need me, I'll be right outside.' It was a sentiment the younger boy had come to count on. Dean was always there, always watching out for him. _

_But something tickled at Sam's mind, taunted from just outside his conscious reach. A voice of uncertainty whispered that there were some things that even big brothers couldn't protect a person from. The teen had yet to find one, but something about the ache in his gut warned that there was a first time for everything. _

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It was like a dream, but not. A vision, although somehow different.

Caleb Reaves shifted in his sleep, even subconsciously trying to hold onto the elusive images that his body sensed were important.

He felt the heat first. Its blinding intensity startling him, burning his skin, almost eliciting a cry of pain. The hunter swallowed hard, steeling himself for the other sensations he could feel building just on the peripheral. Fear and curiosity battled for control of his emotions. As usual, his insatiable inquisitiveness winning out.

The smell of burning wood came, bringing with it the stinging of his eyes, the dirty taste of charcoal to his mouth-the unforgettable stench of seared flesh. A roar filled his ears, the hiss of something living and feeding, growing larger as it mercilessly consumed all it came into contact with. He felt himself cough, his lungs tightening at the lack of oxygen.

And as always, sight came last. Vivid and sharp, the images tore through his mind with a surreal viciousness.

He was in a house. A small room. There was a crib, and a baby.

A woman's voice called out in agony from above. And he looked up.

Spread out like a gauzy white butterfly pinned to a display board, an angel snared in spider's silk. Her green eyes met his, her refined, delicate features were twisted, her mouth open in a silent scream. Caleb watched blood drip in impossibly slow motion from the bloody slash in her white gown, mesmerized by it's blazing decent through the air.

His eyes widened as he watched it strike and splinter like a liquid ruby across the head of a small baby. _Sam. _

The hunter made a move to step forward, even as he realized the inability to change the past, but then the whole ceiling was consumed by the fire he'd known was coming. The child cried out, and before Caleb was torn from sleep by the sister scream he felt building in his own throat, he saw a _sixteen-year-old _Sam be taken by the flames.

"No!" He gasped, sitting up in bed, realizing the moment that his eyes opened that the dream was not his, nor was it a vision. "Sammy," Caleb sighed, raking a hand through his hair, frustrated that his psychic mind had been traveling without his permission or cognition-seeking out another like presence. One that it found in the midst of Sam's nightmare. The hunter tried to decide if he should do something, or wait for the inevitable.

Before he had a chance to ponder long, consider his options, a terror-filled cry shattered the silence of the apartment. A chill raced over the hunter's bare arms and chest at the raw panic his senses wicked from the emotionally-charged room. He collapsed back onto the bed, rubbing at his burning eyes. The nagging, residual feelings of fear and pain threatened to send him to his knees in front of the porcelain god, but a few deep breaths steadied his raw nerves, prepared him for the inevitable.

Sam screamed again and Caleb heard Mac's door thud open, John's footfalls beat against the hardwood floor that would take him past Caleb's room, lead him to where his boys were. He pushed himself from beneath the blankets, swung his legs over the side, and hoped he was steadier than he felt as his bare feet touched the cold surface.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark by the time he reached the hallway, peered out towards the guest room at the far end. He could make out the familiar tall form lingering near the door, hand hovering just out of reach of the doorknob.

John's head came up as Caleb stepped out of his own room, and the younger hunter felt, more than saw, the apprehension on his friend's face. "Nightmare," Caleb said softly. "Nothing's here."

Of that Caleb was sure. The only presences he could sense were familiar ones, and although fear and pain lingered, there was no urgent sense of danger that demanded a battle. At least not one of the physical kind.

"You sure?" The question was whispered, but Caleb could detect the relief in the deep, sleep-roughened voice.

"Yeah."

Caleb waited to see if John would go in or not, already knowing that he wouldn't. He'd witnessed it before. Nothing scared John Winchester, except for what lay beyond that door.

"You want some coffee?"

John accepted the lifeline like a drowning man. "Only if it's Irish."

Caleb snorted. "What other kind is there at three o'clock in the fucking morning."

After all, at three o'clock in the morning, most normal people were sleeping peacefully in their warm beds.

Unfortunately, there was very little normal about the Winchesters and sleep of any kind was not to be found by Dean Winchester. He had just been torn from his oh so delicious dream of Syria Delacroix and tossed into harsh reality where his younger brother was screaming bloody murder.

Without thought, the twenty-year-old hunter's hand had gone for the knife beneath his pillow even before his eyes had opened. His head instantly came up, eyes blinking against the darkness, to scout for the source of the threat even as his other hand sought out the restless form in the bed bedside of him.

Sam screamed again, and Dean realized the intruder for what it was. _Nightmare. _And although Sam hadn't had one so obviously terrifying in years, a part of Dean was relieved that no corporeal evil was lurking nearby.

The hunter sighed, shoving the knife back under the pillow and pushed himself to a sitting position. "Sammy," Dean reached out, and clasped his brother's shoulder, giving him a slight shake. "Sam!" He hissed, determined to break the hold of whatever monster was torturing his brother this time, so they both could get some much needed rest.

The younger boy stirred, his head tossing listlessly from side to side. Dean pushed himself to a seated position, turned on the lamp beside their bed. "Sammy," He said again, rubbing his eyes, trying to fight off the last traces of his own deep sleep.

Sam gasped, sitting straight up in bed, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. "Dean?"

"I'm here," The older boy said, shaking his head slightly at the condition the teen was in, wondering at what had brought this latest night terror on.

"Dean?" Sam said again, blinking, his hand reaching out, as if he hadn't heard what his brother had said.

"Hey, you awake?" Dean wrapped his fingers around the wrist of his brother's out-stretched hand, gave it a squeeze. "You with me?"

Finally, the teen looked at him. "Yeah," He swallowed thickly, shoving his free hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Dean sighed, placing a hand on his brother's forehead, frowning as the skin he came in to contact with seemed much too hot. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam had been asleep when Dean had returned to the room they were sharing. The older boy had finished his dinner and watched part of an old Western with his father and Caleb before finally turning in. Sam had seemed fine, a little warm, but nothing like he did now. Dean remembered the episode from before and couldn't help but to link the two. "How's your stomach?"

Sam looked at him, still seeming a little dazed. "Okay, until you mentioned it." The teen winced, as the pain returned signaling that his sleep-induced reprieve was over.

"You feel sick?"

Dean didn't have to wait for an answer as Sam quickly shoved the covers off of him and stumbled to the small half-bath in the corner of the room. "Great," Dean muttered as the sounds of his brother's misery floated into the adjoining room.

The older boy pushed himself up, made his way around the bed, and placed a hand on the closed door. "Sammy? You okay?"

"No," He heard his brother gag.

It was a stupid question, but one born out of habit. Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm coming in."

Sam didn't protest as Dean wet a hand towel and draped it over his neck, as he stayed curled around the commode seat, emptying the meager remains of his lunch from the day before.

After a painful bout of dry heaves, the teen finally leaned back, pulling the cool rag from his neck, using it to wipe his mouth. Dean knelt beside of him. "You done?"

Sam's glassy moss-green gaze met his. "God, I hope so."

Dean nodded, smiled grimly and then took his brother's arm. "Then let's get you back to bed, sleeping beauty."

Sam didn't resist the help, which was unnerving enough considering his stubborn streak when it came to anything resembling coddling these days, and even more disturbing was the fact that he leaned into his big brother's support. "Man, I feel bad, Dean."

Dean felt his heart clench in sympathy, his grip tightening slightly on the younger boy. "That'll teach you to stay away from the hard stuff, kiddo."

Sam snorted. "I haven't had any hard stuff."

"I'm just saying that if you think _this_ is bad, wait until your first run in with Tequila. Makes this look like a stroll in the park."

"I'll think I'll pass then."

"See, your suffering hasn't been in vain. No chance you'll be caving to peer pressure."

Sam looked up at him as they made it back to the bed, intent on telling Dean just how full of shit he was when the world tilted, tossing him cruelly back into the depths of his nightmare.

Heat and flames rushed out to greet him, feeling as if they were intent on searing all the skin from his bones. A burst of pain, that left the one from earlier paling in comparison, rushed from his feet burrowing through his nervous system until coming to rest in the recesses of his mind where it exploded with a dizzying array of colorful shards that sent spikes of torture into the teen's brain.

He heard himself cry out as if from a far distance, felt his feet betray him and would have undoubtedly met with the uncompromising floor if not for his brother's quick reflexes.

Dean quickly reached out to steady Sam, as the teen stumbled and clasped his head in his hands. He caught the younger boy, guided them both to the plush carpet floor. "Sam!'

He could hear his brother's breath quicken, coming in short, harsh pants again, like before when he first awoke from the dream. "Oh God." Dean heard him gasp, trying to curl in tighter around himself. "Dean!"

It was the little boy quality to that urgent plea that was nearly the older hunter's undoing. "Hey, Sammy, talk to me. What's going on?"

"My head," Sam panted, his eyes still squeezed shut. "It hurts," He managed, through his clenched teeth.

Dean kept his hands on Sam's shoulders now, peering intently at his twisted face, trying to think of anything that might help. "Just breathe, Sammy. Take it easy."

Sweat had popped out along the teen's furrowed brow, his skin taking on an unhealthy grey sheen. "Dean," Sam said again, "Something's…wrong."

That was obvious. Dean gripped his brother tighter. "Can you move? Let's get you back on the bed."

Sam nodded, tightly. The fire receded slowly and he sighed, the relief in his exhalation of air almost palpable. He opened his eyes, traces of tears clinging to his dark lashes. "I'm…okay," Sam told him, shakily.

Dean wasn't sure if the consoling was for him or self-soothing in nature, but he nodded in agreement, not at all convinced or in the least relieved. He wrapped an arm around his brother's waist and hoisted them both up. "Sure you are."

"Probably freaky-ass growing pains," Dean muttered, as he gently helped his brother back onto the bed. "But I got to say, man, if you get much taller, I'm going to have to stop walking next to you. I have a reputation as the older brother to maintain."

Sam tried to smile, though its effect was tainted, by the hitched breath he was ashamed to hear come out sounding a whole hell of a lot like a sob. He would not cry. So what if it had felt like someone was inside of his skull trying to hack their way out with a searing hot knife. Damn it. He was a Winchester. He had a reputation to uphold, too.

Dean carefully pushed him back on the bed. "Just hold on, okay. I'm going to get Dad."

"No," Sam's hand shot out, wrapping his fingers around his brother's wrist. "I'm okay now."

"Dude, you nearly blacked out." He frowned at Sam, when the boy tightened his grip. "And you look like shit, Sammy." The older hunter laid the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, his frown deepening. "You're burning up. Not good, little brother. Definitely not okay."

"Please," Sam knew he was being petty, using the look that had gotten him his way many times when honestly he shouldn't have had his way. "Just give me a minute. Dad already thinks…"

"What?" Dean asked, not liking the pain of a different kind that raced through the dark hazel gaze. "What does Dad think?"

Sam licked his lips. He was suddenly very thirsty. "That I'm weak. That I can't take care of myself."

"Sammy, that's not true." Dean shook his head. Where did his brother come up with some of his ridiculous ideas. "Is this about the trip to Jersey?"

Sam nodded. "He thought I'd get in the way."

"He was worried about you, that's all." The older boy sighed. "If he had doubts about anybody, it was me."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Just get me a Tylenol and some water. The pain's going away. Really."

"I don't like this, Sammy." Dean stared at his brother, hating the self-doubt he read on his face almost as much as the blatant pain etched in to every crease. Maybe it wasn't necessary to bring their father into it yet. "I'll do it your way for now. But you have to promise me that if you start feeling worse you'll tell me. None of that suffering in silence crap. Stoicism doesn't suit you."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "This coming from the king of 'suck it up' himself."

"Yeah, well, that's _me_."

"You're such a hypocrite, you know that?"

"Older brother prerogative. Do as I say, not as I do."

"I thought that was a parent thing."

"Well," Dean waved his hand in the air, without saying anything, but Sam knew what he was thinking. What they both were thinking. Dean was more Sam's parent than their own father.

"I promise," Sam said softly, and although he still looked torn, Dean nodded and left the room.

The twenty-year-old was still muttering under his breath about what a pushover he was when he shoved through the swinging doors of the kitchen. The overly bright lights reflecting off the painfully white walls was enough of a surprise without his father's stern voice almost sending him into a defensive posture.

"Damn, Dad, give a guy a heart attack, why don't you." Dean had had enough shocks for one night. He palmed his eyes and blinked at the two men seated on opposite ends of the small table, a pot of coffee and a bottle of whiskey between them. "So, Felix, Oscar, what the hell are you two doing up?"

"Hard to sleep through Amityville Horror," Caleb shrugged, pointed towards his own head. "Especially when your wired for picture and sound."

"Sleep-snooping again, Reaves?" Dean yawned, ignoring the questioning look his father was shooting him. He walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water, before turning back to Caleb. "Serves you right. You should keep your mind in its own yard."

"Third cabinet on the right," the older hunter answered, before Dean had voiced his intended question.

The twenty-year-old growled, and the older hunter grinned over the rim of his coffee cup. "Back off, Caleb."

"What?" He asked innocently.

"You know what." Dean grabbed the Tylenol and started back towards the door.

"Sammy okay?" John asked, before he could slip out.

Dean turned, casually avoiding eye contact. "Nightmare."

"That all?" It was Caleb again, and his unsolicited concern earned him a patented Winchester glare.

"Yes," Dean said tightly.

Dean watched as Reaves brow furrowed and he had the tingling sensation he was being read without his permission, which they had discussed before. "I swear to God, Reaves…"

His threat was lost though as Caleb's frown turned into a twisted expression of pain, and he nearly dropped the hot drink he was holding. He managed to roughly sit it on the table, the dark brew sloshing over the sides, before he brought both hands to his forehead and hissed. "Damn it!"

"Caleb?" John's inquiry was wary, his eyes going from Reaves to Dean.

"We've got company," The psychic managed through bared teeth, seconds before the doorbell rang.

"What?" John stood, pushed his chair back. "Who?"

Caleb's face had relaxed some, but still held a shadow of pain as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I was wide open, when that bitch…"

"Who!" John demanded again, his muscles tensing, preparing for the worst. The doorbell rang once more, and he wondered at what kind of self-respecting bad announced their arrival before attacking.

"Hughes' witch," Caleb snapped, pushing his way to his feet. He stepped towards Dean who was looking between him and his father with confusion. "Duran is with her."

"What's going on?"

"Go take care of your brother," John ordered, and watched as his older son visibly bristled.

"First, tell me what's going on." Dean sat the glass of water he was holding down and looked at his father. "You didn't say what happened between you and Duran earlier. Sammy hinted that not all was so Kosher with you two. What did he want? Is there going to be trouble? "

For some reason the younger hunter had a sinking suspicion that Duran wasn't merely paying a cordial visit at the ungodly hour of three in the morning. As usual, his sharp mind was putting together pieces that would most likely reveal a very ugly picture. After all, it was too much of coincidence that they were all awake, almost as if Hughes had known what was taking place. But that didn't make sense. Because Duran Hughes was a medium, not a visionary, not an empath. But Caleb had mentioned Syria…

"Can you tell why they're here?" John asked Caleb only to receive a scowl for his trouble.

"I'm kind of having a hard time keeping her out of _my_ head." That was probably exactly what Duran had wanted. "She's not exactly full of finesse." It was an understatement. In actuality the sensation could be likened to that of the woman hacking her way around his mind with a crow bar. " Why don't you open the goddamn door and ask them yourself."

Dean didn't give his father a chance as he pushed his way into the living room, strode to the front door and opened it himself.

"Good morning, young Winchester." Duran smiled and had the nerve to shove a box of pastries in Dean's direction. "I brought breakfast."

"What the hell are you doing here?" John snarled, not two steps behind his son.

"What? No invitation in, brothers?" Duran frowned when neither man spoke. "Good thing I'm not a vampire," He said, hopping theatrically across the threshold.

"Where's your cheap Marti Gras souvenir?" Caleb asked, trying to keep the grimace from his face. He jutted his chin towards the entranceway. "I can smell her cheap perfume."

Duran raked his eyes over the younger hunter, and Caleb couldn't help but to wish he'd put on a t-shirt. "Now, Caleb, you'll hurt Syria's feelings."

"Call her off, Duran, or I'll put _your_ head in a vice grip." John said, stepping towards the other man.

Duran laughed. "Oh you're no fun, John." He glanced over his shoulder, back to the entranceway. "Syria, retract your claws darling. Caleb's being a big cry baby."

The woman sashayed into the room as if she were making a grand entrance from the red carpet. She smiled at the three men, as Hughes helped her off with her coat.

Despite the situation, Dean couldn't help but to notice the black dress that Sam had described to him earlier It was just as tasty as he had imagined, and any other time he might have made an effort to flirt or at least offered a comment.

"Again," John's voice was harsh and held nothing but the barest of patience, "What are you doing here, Hughes?"

The other hunter hung Syria's coat on the rack by the door, making a deliberate display of depositing the pastries carefully on the stand beside of it, before turning to face his captive audience. "I've come to work out the specifics of this hunt. I think the sooner we get started, the better. I know Mr. Kline is anxious to have his son back. And timing is important with this ritual. The new moon is in two days, and spirits that have crossed over for long periods of time can be testy to say the least."

John and Caleb exchanged a look. "I told you I wasn't going to be a part of this."

"And I still believe in the power of persuasion." Duran gestured between them. "And what of the loyalty of the brotherhood? One for all and all for one."

"That's the Musketeers, you ass." Caleb rolled his eyes. "You don't see us running around with swords on horseback, do you?"

Duran grinned. "No, but the image is quite arousing, I must say."

John held a hand out to keep Caleb from advancing on the other man. "Necromancy isn't part of the code, Hughes. In fact, it goes against the grain."

"Oh, pish posh," Duran waved a hand in the air, striding farther into the room. "Dark magic is used all the time amongst us, and you know it, John. Not all of our brethren are so pure." His eyes fell on Caleb. "Demonic devices have been in our ranks for years."

"Somebody should have definitely enforced a more selective policy," Dean spoke up, his green gaze pinning Hughes. "Where was the hall monitor when you got in?"

The man smiled back, ignoring the jab, moving closer to the younger hunter. "I must say, Dean, you have grown up since I saw you last." He looked the boy up and down, his eyes lingering on the silver ring on Dean's right hand. "I see you have officially joined us." Duran inched closer. "You've built quite the reputation already. Perhaps you would like to assist in this venture, since you and Caleb have returned ahead of schedule. I'm sure _we_ could make an interesting team."

Caleb moved so fast that John didn't even register his intent. He shoved his way between Dean and Hughes, grabbing the medium around the throat and slamming him up against the wall. "I will cut your fucking heart out, Hughes. Do you understand me?"

Duran didn't look surprised or worried, but highly amused. He laughed or at least attempted to, despite the oxygen flow he was being denied. "What? I was just being friendly?" He gasped.

Caleb squeezed tighter. "You forget I'm psychic?" He growled. "I can read your fucking mind, you sick bastard."

"I couldn't help myself. " Duran whispered. "Kind of reminds me of you when you were that age."

Caleb shook with rage, his hands instinctively closing around the man's neck. He could feel the rush of his enemy's blood through the carotid artery, almost taste the slight fear that was now inching up from the pit of Duran's stomach. The hunter leaned in against the medium, his mouth almost brushing against his ear. "Go near him and I won't hesitate in killing you-brotherhood or not."

"Caleb!" John shouted. "Let him go."

The other hunter reluctantly did what the older hunter said, giving Hughes one more vicious shove against the wall. But the fact he kept himself placed between Duran and Dean didn't go unnoticed, by either Winchester.

"Dude, cut the bodyguard routine," Dean muttered, once Caleb had backed close enough that the younger hunter didn't have to raise his voice to be heard.

Reaves glared at him, but didn't say anything. He didn't move either, and something about the look Duran had given him right before Caleb had intervened, kept Dean from pushing the issue.

The oldest Winchester pointed a finger at Duran, his own protective instincts on over-drive. The man was still slightly hunched over gasping, trying to restart his air flow. "Get out, Hughes, before I forget that you wear that ring," John motioned to the door. "Now!"

Duran finally straightened, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt, pulling himself together. "I'm not leaving until we finish our business." He said, rubbing at his throat.

"Are you really that stupid?" Caleb demanded. "We're not going to help you?"

"Unless it's into a shallow grave," Dean added, coldly. He hadn't had many run-ins with Duran, but he'd seen and heard enough to know that Sam had been right. He wasn't a friend.

"Ah, but you haven't even heard what I'm willing to give you in return."

"We're not interested in your money," John replied. "I think you know me well enough to know that I don't care about that."

"I know what you do care about." Duran's face was serious now, all amusement gone, replaced by a twisted frown that marred his handsome features. "What you both care about." His gaze included Caleb, before flicking to Dean. "And you, young Dean, should be especially interested in what I have to offer."

Caleb growled deep in his throat. "Leave him out of it."

"Why?" Duran snapped, a hint of anger in his voice. "Come now, Caleb, it seems _you_ understand all about little brothers and the desire to keep them safe. He has a great deal at stake here. "

"What are you talking about, John Edwards?" Dean demanded, stepping from behind Caleb, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, as the ice blue eyes found his gaze.

"I'm talking about _your_ little brother, Dean. Sammy. I'm sorry to tell you this, but he's in great danger."

Dean's eyes scoured the room, looking for any source of a threat that he might have missed. His hand convulsively tightened on the Tylenol bottle he still had grasped in his hand, and he looked back towards the hallway.

"Where's the witch?" Caleb suddenly snarled, bringing Dean's gaze back to him. John's head swung around too, looking for Syria, who had apparently disappeared during the distraction that Duran had created.

"Sam," Dean said, his body turning, feet swiftly carrying him towards his little brother, even before his mind made a conscious decision to do so.

He could hear another set of footsteps behind him. His father's- he could tell. But all his focus was on Sam and getting to him in time. An annoying little voice taunted him- chiding cruelly- that he was already too late.

TBC

_A/N: Okay, guys. I will try to post another chapter tomorrow. I can't promise anything, but if my schedule allows, I will. If not, I'm afraid it will be a week from today before the next post, as I am going on vacation. I'm not sure how I will survive without the internet or access to updated stories or any news on any forum. Maybe Tidia will keep me updated if I call and bug her enough_.


	6. Chapter 6

The Line

Chapter 6

**_The inappropriate cannot be beautiful. - Frank Lloyd Wright_**

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"_Where's the witch?" Caleb suddenly snarled, bringing Dean's gaze back to him. John's head swung around too, looking for Syria, who had apparently disappeared during the distraction that Duran had created._

"_Sam," Dean said, his body turning, feet swiftly carrying him towards his little brother, even before his mind made a conscious decision to do so._

_He could hear another set of footsteps behind him. His father's- he could tell. But all his focus was on Sam and getting to him in time. An annoying little voice taunted him- chiding cruelly- that he was already too late._

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Dean pushed their bedroom door open and stormed in completely bent on having his way with Syria in a manner he had never before imagined.

She was sitting on the bed, draped close to Sam, who appeared to be sleeping once more, although restlessly.

The dark-haired woman held a wet cloth to the boy's forehead and when her deep green eyes lifted to meet Dean's he felt a violent shiver race through his body. "Your brother is very sick, no?" She asked, and Dean stalked towards her.

"Get the hell away from him!"

Syria carefully removed the cloth from Sam's brow before unfolding her long legs and elegantly standing up. "His fever is high."

"Dean?" John's voice echoed in the room, full of accusation, but Dean ignored it as he moved to his little brother's side, rested his hand against the boy's head.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" He let his fingers slide down to the teen's shoulder, gave it a little shake. "Wake up, Sam."

"Dean?" Sam blinked, stirred, but winced as he tried to sit up. "What's...going on?"

Dean glanced up at Syria and his little brother's gaze followed his. "Dean?" He said again, confusion and disbelief easily read in his shaky voice.

"Take it easy."

Sam licked his lips. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do you dream of me, Sam?" Syria smiled playfully, reaching out to touch the teen, but Dean intercepted her hand, squeezing her wrist until she pulled it roughly away with a slight gasp.

"Back off," He growled.

John stepped closer to his son's side, keeping a wary eye on the woman. "Sam? Are you alright?"

Sam sent a disappointed look to his brother as if he'd run and tattled about something, before nodding. "I'm okay, Dad."

"What did you do to him?" Dean was still glaring at Syria.

"Dean?" Sam looked at his brother again, this time pushing himself up in the bed. The ache in his side and the dull pain in his head were still there, but he didn't feel as bad as the look on his big brother's face warranted. Something else was going on.

"I don't know what you mean?" Syria replied. "I was looking for the ladies room, and stumbled across Sam instead. He was calling out in his sleep. I have a strong maternal side, I can't help myself."

The teen's face flushed even further. "Great," He muttered, shooting his father the barest of glances. "What is she doing here?"

"I think I can explain that." Caleb entered the room, dragging a flustered looking Duran with him.

The medium pulled away, "Manhandling is only appreciated when it's foreplay," He scoffed, trying to put himself back in order.

"Tell him." He said glancing from Hughes to John. "Tell him exactly what you told me."

"I was planning on it," Duran gave Caleb another contemptuous glare before facing John. "It would seem that Sam _accidentally _drank a potion that my lovely Syria concocted.

"Accidentally?" John took a menacing step towards the man.

"Well..." Duran held up his hands, "Syria _put _it in his drink on purpose, but I assume Sam didn't intend to get himself poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dean stepped between his brother and Duran's penetrating glaze, shielding the younger boy much like Caleb had done for him earlier. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The tea," It was the slight tremor in Sam's voice that brought all eyes to him.

Dean frowned. "What tea?"

Sam moved his eyes to Syria, who merely shrugged. "She gave me a glass of raspberry tea, when Dad was talking to Duran."

The twenty-year-old's eyes went to the woman's face, and if the bed hadn't been between them he might have slapped the smile from her full, pouty lips. "Is that true?"

Syria smiled. "It's a family recipe." She looked back down at Sam. "It was good. No?"

Dean started around the bed but Caleb reached out and caught his arm. "Wait, Deuce."

"For what?" Dean snarled, jerking away, moving towards the woman. "For Sammy to get worse? I don't think so."

"Dean!" John tried, but his son ignored him.

The twenty-year-old had only taken two steps when he doubled over in pain, both hands clutching at his head. "Ahhh," He cried, dropping to one knee.

"Dean!" Sam tried to scramble from the bed, his sluggish body refusing to cooperate properly, leaving him floundering with the covers as Caleb bent down to help his brother.

"For _that_, stubborn ass." Caleb growled as he placed a hand on the younger hunter's shoulder and glared at the woman. "Stop it!" He told her, as Dean curled tighter into himself a ragged cry torn from his lips again as Syria's smile grew. Caleb could feel the small tremors of pain coursing beneath his sensitive fingers, easily reading the agony the witch's mental attack was causing.

"Or what?" She challenged the psychic.

Reaves ran through his recourses. He could always strike back, but the bitch had an open psychic link to Dean, which would leave him vulnerable to whatever assault Caleb launched. Syria might have been poorly trained, but her crude methods were effective.

"Or I'll kill you." No one, including the woman attacking Dean, had even noticed Sam's change of direction, until he was on his knees on the bed in front of her, his brother's knife held right up against her lovely throat.

Her green eyes went to his, and her smile faded some. "You do that, boy, and you'll die with me."

Sam didn't flinch, instead he touched the tip of the weapon to her skin. "Stop hurting my brother."

"Do as he says, Syria." Duran sighed. "This is all getting overly dramatic-even for me."

The woman blinked and Dean sagged to the floor. Caleb grabbed his arm and hauled him up. "You okay?"

"Peachy," Dean pulled away, still holding one hand to his head, but glaring at Syria. "But I'll be better when Dorothy drops a house on _her_."

Sam slowly lowered the knife, his eyes seeking out Dean's. "You're bleeding." He said, not relinquishing his hold on the blade.

The older boy wiped the back of his hand under his nose, surprised to see the smear of red on his skin. "Bitch," He hissed, shooting Syria another look before moving to Sam's side, where he promptly took the knife from his kid brother's slightly trembling hand. "And to think I was going to ask her to the prom."

Some of the worry fled from the younger boy's eyes and he shrugged. "I still think it might have worked out better than Becky Carter."

"You drugged my son?" John turned to Duran, his face twisted in anger. He grabbed the other man by the lapels of his designer jacket and gave him a hard shake. "What kind of fucking game are you playing at Hughes?"

"I'm not playing, John."

"Do you know the penalty for harming one of our own?"

"Sam isn't a hunter," Duran said, matter of factly.

"The hell he isn't!" Caleb snapped.

"He's a boy!" Duran yelled. "He doesn't wear a ring. Jim hasn't bestowed any such privileges to him. He isn't protected."

"The hell he isn't." Dean spoke up, heatedly. "I protect him."

"By the brotherhood, he is not!" Duran spat. "He is fair game."

Dean started forward but a hard glare from his father stopped him. The oldest Winchester released Hughes. "He's my _son. _You know you're splitting hairs."

Duran rolled his eyes. "You should have heard me out at Kline's. None of this would have been necessary. Then your precious _son_ wouldn't have been made to suffer."

"What's to keep us from killing you and the _Big Easy_?" Caleb demanded.

"Oh, Caleb, surely you know yourself better than that. You've had reason to kill me before, but you're affiliation to this secret club is ingrained too strongly. I fear it is the only thing that keeps you human."

He laughed and John shook him again. "I don't have a problem with killing you, Hughes. And Syria's parlor tricks are no match for Caleb's abilities you know that."

"But despite Caleb's obvious talents, his spell-breaking skills aren't very handy, now are they." Duran's infuriating grin was back. "And even if you were able to find a witch or priestess, without knowing what was used, it would be impossible to counter. Deal with us, or deal with the death of your son. Perhaps you and Mr. Kline could attend a grief support group together."

"Dad?" Dean's voice was filled with trepidation, and John could feel both his boys' eyes on him.

He clenched his jaw and faced Syria. "What did you give my son, bitch ?"

She smiled. "Le feu de sang."

Caleb looked at her. "Le feu de sang," He said softly, the words bringing vivid images of his earlier trip into Sam's nightmare. The blood-the fire. Maybe it was more of a vision than he realized. "The fire of blood." The hunter translated, easily recalling some of his own grandmother's native language.

"What?" Both John and Dean spoke.

Caleb faced the oldest Winchester. "It's French. It means the fire of blood."

"Yeah, we got that." Dean replied. "What the hell does _that_ mean exactly?"

"It doesn't sound good," Sam sighed behind him, and Dean moved closer to the younger boy.

"It'll be okay, Sammy." The reassurance rang hollow even to his ears.

"Basically, it means that your son will die from a very high fever," Duran said calmly. "Kind of like burning to death, only from the inside out." He smiled. "Runs in the family, doesn't it?"

"I'll kill you!" This time it was John's hands around Duran's neck and it took both Caleb and Dean to peel him from the man's body.

"John, stop it!" Caleb growled, wishing he could just turn his friend loose, or even better join him, but knowing that they were in a corner. "He's the only one that can tell us how to fix this."

Finally the hunter released the medium. "What do you want?" He snarled.

Duran coughed, and glared at the other men. "I want you all to stop with this very tiresome cavemen routine. Unless of course you want to run around in some loin cloths, stop touching me."

"Hughes," John warned. "I don't need you healthy, just alive."

"Fine," he huffed. "You know what I want. I want Echnon's Blade. I believe you know someone who has it."

"That's a legend."

"So are werewolves, vampires, and demons," Duran smiled. "Along with all those other things that go bump in the night. But we all know better- right, brothers."

"What's Echnon's Blade?" Dean asked. Fuck all these games. He'd find the damn thing and give it to the man himself, if it would help his brother. "

"A knife that belonged to a very powerful alchemist," Caleb supplied. "The myth says that he created it from the iron of his own blood."

"Brains and good looks." Duran nodded his approval, and then smiled in a way that set his cold blue eyes afire. "Funny lot, alchemists. They can change any ore to whatever they wish. But Echnon was especially brilliant. The knife holds all of his power, including the ability to bring the dead back to life."

"Say the blade is real, and I can lay my hands on it. What guarantee do I have that you'll give us the antidote or the counter spell ?"

Hughes laid one of his hands over his heart. "Why, you have my word, John."

"That's reassuring. Like a rattler promising not to bite you if you pick it up."

Duran looked at Dean. "So cynical for one so young." He sighed. "But I suppose I can understand your hesitancy.Just think about it this way . What good would it do for me to have all Mr. Kline's money, if I was not around to enjoy it. I mean, I doubt that I would live very long if I didn't hold up my end of the deal."

"Help Sam now, and _I'll_ get the blade for you."

"Dean," Sam warned, but the older Winchester held up his hand.

Hughes looked from the sixteen-year-old to Dean. "That's honorable. But although there are many things you could do for me, young Winchester, retrieving that knife is not one of them. Only your father has the contacts to do that- or one specific contact as it is."

"I assume that you're talking about Elkins," John frowned. "But I haven't spoken to Daniel in years."

"Yes, but the old coot will come out of hiding for you. He's as loyal as he is crazy."

"What makes you so sure that he has Echnon's blade?" Caleb asked. "Like you said, he's crazy. Daniel's not always in the same reality that the rest of us exist in."

"Perhaps we'll get lucky and he'll be on his meds." Duran grinned at John. "But honestly, I'm not sure he does have it. However, he has made it his life work to find every charmed artifact and weapon known to man or demon. I'd say it's a good bet he'd know where it is. That is, if it does exist."

"You're asking me to bet my son's life on a wild goose chase."

"I'm giving you a chance, which is more than Mr. Kline had when his son was taken by that drunk driver."

"_God_. You're an ass," Caleb growled. "One has nothing to do with the other."

"My dear Caleb cosmic forces are always at play. Karmatic justice and all."

"Only in your warped mind, Hughes."

"How much time do we have?" John raked a hand through his dark hair.

"Dad?" Dean asked, not liking the tone of his father's voice. It sounded entirely too much like it did when they were working a normal job, and not enough like he was discussing the life of his son, of Dean's little brother.

"How much time, Duran?" John growled again, and again Hughes smiled in triumph.

"I really do need to start the procedure as soon…"

"I don't give a damn about your procedure," Winchester snapped. "I'm talking about the drug. How long until it runs its course?"

"Oh that." Hughes looked at Syria. "My dear?"

"He will not die right away."

Dean glared at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that the blood fire does not take a life quickly. It eats away at it, a little piece at a time."

"Meaning, the person suffers." Caleb stepped closer to the witch. "It's as much to torture as it is to kill."

"Voodoo isn't a pleasant art, Caleb," Hughes interjected. "But it has its beauty just the same."

"There's nothing beautiful about people in pain," The hunter rounded on the medium. "Unless maybe that person happens to be you."

Hughes rolled his eyes. "How about we end everyone's suffering right now. John will go get Echnon's blade, Syria and I will work on the spell to bind Scott Kline's soul to the blade and then I will procure a suitable body and Sam will be cured. No more of this dialoguing, as I am growing quite bored of it all."

"My brother isn't some bargaining chip."

"I beg to differ, Dean." Hughes sighed. "Your father has turned him into a pawn, and unless you want to surrender him to my queen, I suggest you start playing."

Sam's hand came up and found his brother's arm, sensing the building frustration, knowing Dean was on the verge of doing something stupid. "It's alright. He's just trying to make you angry."

"It's working."

"Now then, I suppose we should be going." He turned to John. "I trust that you'll be in touch as soon as you have spoken to Elkins."

"It may take some time, Duran. Nothing better happen to my boy in the mean while."

Hughes nodded, and started for the door of the small guest bedroom. "You will have at least forty-eight hours." He tilted his head to the other men. "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure doing business with you." With that he was gone.

Syria started after him, but Caleb grabbed her arm. "What can we expect?"

She raised a defined brow, tilted her chin so that her elegant neck was exposed. Caleb envisioned reaching out and snapping it as her chilling smile grew. "You don't like surprises?"

The hunter tightened his hold until it was bruising. "What. Can. We. Expect." He gave her a little shake to punctuate each word.

Her green eyes went to Sam, and the teen forced himself to hold her gaze. "More of the same. The high fever will drain his strength, cloud his thoughts, bring terrible pain and eventually death."

Caleb pulled her a little closer to him, lifted her slightly so that she was nearly on her toes. "You know after this is over, there's nothing to stop us from killing _you_."

Syria smiled. "I do not need to be in your little club to feel safe. You are good men." She said it with more than a hint of disgust. "Good men do not have the stomach for murder."

"We kill things every day," Dean pointed out, menacingly, and Syria laughed.

"Cold, dead things, not of this world, yes. Have you ever killed a living, breathing, person, Dean?"

"No," The twenty-year-old replied, flatly. "But there's a first time for everything."

"Yes," Her smile faded some, and she didn't' seem quite so sure of herself as she had only moments earlier. "I suppose there is."

She looked down at her arm, and Caleb finally released her with a rough shove. "Get the hell out of here."

Syria slinked a way with only a baleful glance in John's direction as she was careful to give him a wide berth on her departure. "So what now?" Dean asked as soon as they were alone.

Sam had sank back down on the bed, wearily resting against the headboard. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have taken anything from her."

"This isn't your fault." Dean turned on his brother. "Fuck, Sammy, it was a glass of tea. Who the hell would have thought it was laced with anything."

"Your brother's right. I should have known Duran would have something up his sleeve." John raked a hand across his beard, shot Caleb a look. "I'm going to have a hell of a time convincing Daniel to let go of that blade."

"You think he has it?"

"Hell yes," The older hunter grunted. "The old bastard showed it to me and Jim once. Jim tried to get him to put it in the vault at the church for safe keeping, but you know Elkins."

"Is he crazy?" Sam asked, weakly.

"Mac seems to think so. He keeps him medicated with enough drugs to make a werewolf behave like a poodle." Caleb shoved both his hands through his black hair and then palmed his eyes. "Damn it, if he were here, he might be able to convince him to hand it over."

"Oh, I'll convince him," John replied.

Caleb grinned at him. "I meant without bloodshed, Johnny."

"Just stay with the boys."

"We don't need a babysitter," Dean spoke up. "Take Caleb with you, in case you need back up."

"I don't need back up with Daniel. He won't meet me if I'm not alone."

Caleb nodded. "I might be able to help with some of the other stuff."

All eyes went to him. "What other stuff?" Dean asked, warily.

"The symptoms."

"Should we get a doctor?" Dean asked, wondering why no one had even suggested that before. "Maybe they could do something."

John and Caleb shook their heads. "Duran's too damn smart for that. Whatever Syria used in the potion would be specific to her," John said. "No Westernized doctor is going to be of much help."

"They could analyze my blood," Sam suggested.

"And find nothing out of the ordinary," Caleb replied, gently. "Sammy, I've seen stuff like this before. My grandmother grew up around it. Syria more than likely sealed the spell with her own blood. That's strong magic that only she can reverse."

"Then what the hell were you talking about before?" Dean snapped.

"I know a woman who might be able to help with the fever-the other symptoms."

"Could you be a little more specific? You know lots of women, Junior." John's comment had Caleb rolling his eyes.

"Her name's Bird Isbell, and she's sort of a modern day apothecary. An herbalist, actually. Her and my grandmother were friends."

"She's not from any of those strange cults you hang with is she?" Dean asked, glancing from his brother's pale face to Caleb. "Because the last chick you introduced me to was into natural herbs, too, and not the kind for healing purposes."

"Just trust me on this one," Caleb glanced to John. "She has a shop in China Town. If I call her, I'll think she'll come."

The older Winchester glanced out the windows lining the far wall. The first pinks of dawn were appearing. "See what you can do." His eyes went to his sons, taking in Sam's weary eyes, before pinning Dean with his own hard gaze. "Don't leave this apartment, Ace. And don't leave your brother alone." He'd left his son unprotected once, and he wasn't prepared to risk any more harm coming to him. It might have been a mute point at this stage in Duran's game, but John wasn't willing to risk losing anymore ground. Especially when his family would be the forfeit.

Dean shook his head. "I ain't going anywhere." And John read the unspoken in his sharp green eyes. 'And neither is Sammy.'

Chapter 7-Coming Monday

_A/N: Hey guys. I am back and working on this fic as fast as possible. I have also recruited a little help with Where We Find God, and hopefully will resume posting on that beast this week also. Thanks so much for your continued reviews. They were such a treat to come back home to today . _

_A/A/N: Someone asked how to pronounce Caleb's nickname for Dean, and what it meant exactly. Sorry if that was lost along the way. Deuce- Think goose only with a D. It has a couple of meanings although Caleb uses it as the term for a playing card -the two. Which is the lowest of the cards-the opposite of the Ace. It is often a wild card in many games of chance. Funny-but it also means anything of the Devil. Hmmm, didn't really count on that. _


	7. Chapter 7

The Line

Chapter 7

_Warning: Hey dear readers, this is a little late , but after a very insightful review, I thought that I might need to add a little warning about the character of Duran. He is more than slightly disturbing, as I have modeled him loosely after a sociopath-based personality. In my career, I have only dealt with a few, but trust me, they're scary. And so is Duran. He has no conscience-he commits acts in hopes to benefit only him self. He makes inappropriate comments and insinuates things that I would never write descriptively in a story. I am very sorry if I have inadvertently upset anyone. This story is meant to deal with the worst thing that people can become, and the best in us that shines through even in the darkest moments. I hope it will portray that before it is all concluded. Thanks again for reading, and for reviewing. Now on with the story. _

Dean had been sitting by Sam's bedside for the last two hours as the pale colors of dawn had finally given way to the clear, cloudless blue skyline of a late summer morning in New York. It had taken a while, but his little brother had finally grown tired of them talking around the subject, of Dean's reassurances that everything would be fine.

The older hunter had plied the younger teen with Tylenol and juice, hoping to at least hold the approaching storm at bay. A part of him liked to think that it wouldn't be as bad as Syria insinuated, that maybe it was all a bluff. More of Duran's theatrics. But the recent attack from last night was still too fresh in his mind, Sam's distress and cry of pain a memory easily recalled each time he closed his eyes and dared to get a moment's rest. Then there was the heat he could almost feel radiating off his brother now.

It had started not less than an hour ago, forcing its way through any protective barrier that Dean's preemptive measures had offered. And it made the slight warmth from before seem like the a cool breeze off the pond at Jim's farm.

The twenty-year-old leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He watched Sam's chest rise and fall, peered intently at his young face that was already lining with the traces of discomfort, and tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

The shock was still unavoidable as his little brother cried out. Sam called his name, and it was a sound Dean knew he'd never be able to steel himself against. The unmistakable echo of failure.

"Hey," He moved from the chair to the bed, let his hand rest on Sam's forearm. "I'm here. You're okay."

A tired, glassy gaze found his, and he tried to smile, even though the usual distinctive greens and browns like that of a moss covered tree seemed swallowed up by the dilated darkness that had consumed most of Sam's irises. "What…?" The teen tried, his voice rough and grating against his parched throat.

"Take it easy. You were just getting some rest." Dean surmised his brother's inquiry. Sometimes it felt odd that he knew what Sam wanted, even before his brother consciously realized what that was. "Everything's fine."

Sam smirked at that, and Dean couldn't deny the relief he felt that his brother could still call bullshit when he heard it. "Liar."

Dean grinned. "How you feeling, tough guy ?"

"Bad," Sam didn't even bother lying. His head was hot and stuffy, as if someone had shoved his skull full of warm cotton balls. The rest of his body seemed sluggish and achy, like he was suffering from the flu. "I guess I didn't just have really bad dream?"

Dean shook his head. "Althought this does rank right up there with some of the freaky-ass shit that goes on in your wierd subconcious."

Sam smiled , but on the peripheral he could feel an intensity growing, almost like watching a building wave in the distance, fascinated by the way it grows, but knowing all along it's going to hurt like a bitch when it plows into you.

Unfortunately, he might has well have been cemented in sand, waiting for the force of the water to take him under. Because he knew there was no escaping the surge. The frightening thought had him uncharacteristically reaching out for his brother's hand.

Despite the flinch and the worry he saw race through Dean's eyes, he couldn't deny himself the lifeline he needed. At least if he went under, he'd have a way back to shore. Dean wouldn't let him drown. "Don't do anything stupid-okay?"

"Stupid? " His older brother looked down at their entwined hands before reaching up to shove his other through his tousled dirty-blond hair. "Me?"

Sam could telll he was uncomfortable, but dealing for his sake. "Yeah, you." He took a quick breath, sensing the fierce tug of the undertow, felt the sand sliding out from beneath his feet. "No matter how bad it gets."

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep, Sammy," Dean's fingers tightened on his. The way they had done that first time he walked with him out into the vast Atlantic Ocean.

It was one of Sam's first memories-pleasant ones anyway. Even now if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the heat on his bare shoulders, see the sun as he squinted up into the reassuring face of his big brother.

Sam had been maybe four at the time, and their father's latest hunt had brought them to the coast of Carolina to the little sea swept town of Surfside. On a rare mood, John had brought them to the beach for the day, allowed them a moment to be just boys, frolicking in the white-crested water, burying each other in the sand, creating mini tidal pools of their very own.

The first time they'd faced the waves together, Sam had been afraid, positive that he would be washed away, carried out to sea. But his brother had been patient, resolute. 'Don't be afraid, Sammy. Not even Neptune, the god of the ocean, could take you away from me.'

But now Sam was afraid of what lay before him. What he couldn't make out lurking in the dark waters surrounding him. "I'm scared," He whispered. The confession slipped out before he could stop it, betraying him right along with the salty tear that traced a trail down his face, the taste of it on his lips completing the sensations from the past. Then the current grew stronger, right along with his panic, sucking at him now. But Dean's grip also strengthened.

"I'm not going to let go, little brother. Neither are you. You're going to be okay. _That_ I can promise."

Sam was glad it was the last words he heard before the wall of pain pounded over him, before the rush of agony threatened to steal his breath, strangle him with its brutality. "Dean!" The teen gasped as he was drug under, caught up in the swell of the potion.

Fire swept through him like a tide over scattered sand castles, and he cried out again. His brother's voice was muffled and muted as if he were trying to communicate with him from under one of those waves they'd jumped as children. Sam tried desperately to focus, to let that sound anchor him, but even as he felt a warm touch on his face, his mooring escaped him and he was jettison on a storm-swept sea.

"Sammy!" Dean jerked at the raw pain in his little brother's cry, unsure of what to do when the teen went rigid against his touch.

His brother's face was twisted in obvious agony, his eyes clenched tight against the invisible attack. He choked on Dean's name, sputtered a weak plea for help, and Dean saw red, his vision exploding in an array of bright spots that was reminiscent of the times when he'd sustained a forceful blow to the head. Only this time the hit was to his heart-the damage to his soul.

"Come on, Sam. Don't do this." Dean tried putting his hands on his brother's face, holding his listing head. "Just breathe through it, Sammy. Try. Please." This all seemed much worse than the previous attacks. Too brutal, too sudden. And Dean felt completely helpless.

There was nothing to breathe through, no end to be found. The attack seemed one continuous litany of abuse. No light at the tunnel like last time, no reprieve if Sam could only hold on a moment longer.

He felt the other boy's muscles tremble at the strain, his breathing coming in a quick succession interlaced with whimpers and heart-wrenching mewls. "Sam," Dean breathed, leaning over the other boy, feeling his pulse, trying to offer whatever shelter he could.

The teen's heart was racing, sweat was beading on his face, dripping down his neck. There would be no way he could sustain the torture much longer, and neither could Dean.

"Caleb!" Dean called, moving away from his brother only long enough to ensure that his voice would carry into the other room.

Footsteps pounded in the distance and the other hunter burst in like he expected to find a demon tearing the boys apart.

His eyes looked confused for a moment, until they met Dean's panicked gaze-and it was as if an invisible beast suddenly revealed itself. "Do something," The younger man shouted, and Caleb felt bile rise to the back of his throat as he took in the sight of Sam thrashing on the bed and Dean's blood-shot eyes.

Reaves took a step further into the room, nearly staggered under the emotions rolling off of Dean, the pain emanating from Sam. He threw up his defenses before he could be swept away with the current that apparently had both Winchester's in her merciless grip. "Hold on," He snapped, realizing his voice sounded entirely too much like John's when he was barking an order that could not be dismissed. "Just hold on, damn it."

It worked. Dean froze in place by his brother's side, even Sam seemed to still .

In what seemed like seconds, Caleb was barreling back into the room. He moved past Dean, tugging at his sleeve as he did. "Help me." He breathed, as he sat on the bed near the youngest Winchester.

Dean followed robotically, his hands once more finding perch on the writhing body of his younger brother. "Hold him down," Caleb instructed, and Dean noticed for the first time the syringe he held in his hand.

"What is that?" He asked, his voice not half as steady as he willed it to be.

"Morphine," Caleb snapped, using one hand to grasp Sam's arm, the other he used to bring the needle up to his mouth.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Dean demanded, not sure he could surrender such control as this, even to someone he trusted.

"Yeah," Caleb's dark gaze met his and he nodded. He used his teeth to uncap the syringe, spat the plastic tip out onto the floor. "I'm making the pain stop."

Dean was unable to tear his eyes away as the older hunter shoved the needle into his brother's arm, depressed the plunger that would release the drug into his system. There was no time to be professional, no alcohol swab, no searching for just the right vein. This was warfare triage, and Dean could almost hear the bombs exploding around them-the earth quaking beneath their feet.

Caleb removed the syringe when it was empty , held his breath right along with Dean until Sam's struggling eased, his breath started to slow. Only then did they release the younger boy. Still, Dean moved away slowly, carefully, as if he could trigger another landmine if he didn't use extreme caution.

Reaves tossed the used needle into a small trashcan by the bed, raked his hand through his hair then over his shadowed face. "That should help for a few hours." Dean didn't miss the way the other man's hand trembled slightly as he reached out to check Sam's pulse. The way the breath rushed out of him in relief as if he were worried he wouldn't find what he was searching for. "He's not allergic to this shit, is he?"

Dean shook his head, almost choked on a laugh that sounded much too like a sob. "Hell of a time to ask now."

"I didn't think he was," Caleb pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "_You're_ the walking Anaphylactic." He sighed, as his eyes went to Sam's pale face again.

"You gave him the right amount though, right?" Dean slid his own fingers to his brother's throat, easily finding the tell-tale signs of life. "You know how much to give someone his weight and everything?"

"Deuce, I'm not an idiot. I've used the stuff before."

Dean raised a brow. "Beats the hell out of Tylenol."

"Yeah, well sometimes you have to pull out the big guns."

"Speaking of which, is your friend coming? The flower-child chick?"

Caleb snorted. "I wouldn't exactly describe Bird like that, but yeah, she should be here soon."

"Good, cause I don't want another repeat of Dr. Reaves, Medicine Man."

"You're welcome." The older hunter sighed. "How's his fever?"

Dean ran a hand over his brother's face, Sam mumbled and turned into the touch. "Not good."

Caleb glanced at the clock on the night stand, its glowing red numbers read 7:56. "It's been over twelve hours since he ingested the potion. Duran said we had at least forty-eight."

"So this is just the beginning," Dean bit off angrily. "What the hell are we going to do?" He gestured towards his brother. "Sam's already out of it."

"For one, you're not going to freak out, man." Caleb shook his head. "I know how you get. Ranting and raving and killing something isn't an option at the moment."

"And you're the fucking voice of reason?" Dean rolled his eyes. This was a perfect example of the pot calling the kettle black. "Give me a break."

"I'm just saying you need to stay calm."

"Calm? I can do calm." Dean looked at Sam, tightened his fists. "I've dealt with him being sick before. Lots of times."

"I know that. But this is different. "

"Yeah. This is different." The younger hunter glanced up, feeling his eyes beginning to sting, hating like hell that he couldn't even find a control switch for his own feelings this time. "This isn't a cold, or flu, or injury that I know will get better. This is an on-going attack, and I don't know how to defend him against it."

Caleb licked his lips, swallowed hard. He sucked at the conversation shit, and he knew it.

It was one of the things he and Dean had in common. The younger boy might have been able to talk all day, non-stop, but when it was all said and done, he hadn't really said a whole hell of a lot. Caleb just preferred to 'not say a lot' by actually keeping his mouth shut.

When they worked together they didn't need to discuss things to death, whether it was how to handle the job or what happened during said gig. Most of the time, that was an advantage, but at other moments, like now for instance, when action wasn't an option, no cards were in their hands, and without a freakin' pool table in sight, Caleb felt pretty damn retarded. "Look, kid. I hate to break it to you, but you're ringside for this one. The real fight's up to Sammy."

"That makes me feel so much better," Dean grunted. "I'm sure I'll be loads of help just sitting on the sidelines. I've always made such a good bench-warmer. "

Caleb gave his friend a hard look. "Hey." He waited for the younger hunter to look at him. "Nobody I'd rather have in _my_ corner. And I know Sam feels the same."

Before the awkward silence could reach any intolerable levels, Caleb suddenly stood, his eyes darting towards the door. "Bird's here." A moment later, the chimes of the doorbell rang, and he grinned slightly. "And she brought us breakfast."

"Not any special brownies, I hope."

"Kid-she's like seventy."

Dean snorted. "Wait 'til Sammy hears you have a fetish for old chicks."

Caleb smirked. "Better than the one you two got going on for sadistic ones."

At first he was afraid he'd said the wrong thing, but then Dean smiled, his typical half-assed grin, and Caleb realized he might just be losing that badhabit of putting his foot in his mouth. .

"Like you didn't think about it."

Reaves bobbed his eyebrows. "I did more than think about it, Deuce."

"Right."

"Hey, when this is all over, and you've grown up, I might tell you about it."

"Now who's making up fairytales?"

The chimes rang again and Caleb was saved from replying. He started for the door, but Dean's voice stopped him.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks." He nodded towards Sam. "You're a real pain in the ass most times, but you come through when it counts."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, Deuce."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Go let your girlfriend in."

"Hey, after you taste her coffee cake, you're going to want her for yourself."

The twenty-year-old looked at him, his smile gone. "I just want her to help, Sammy."

Caleb nodded. "Me too, kid." The older hunter's eyes went to the much too still boy on the bed. "Me too."

Chapter 8-Coming soon.

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews everyone-your kind words and insights are always so helpful. . I'll do my best to post again as soon as possible.


	8. Chapter 8

The Line

Chapter 8

_A/N: This chapter is kind of short, everyone. But I didn't want to go too long in between posts. I'll try for another later on this week, with a little more action. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews so far. Ridley._

Bird Isbell hefted her bag up further on her shoulder and fought off an ear-popping yawn. She rang the bell again and tried to find the reserve of patience that she had worked very hard to accumulate over the years. After all, if there was any advantage to getting old, it was that time became more of a friend-a comrade that you wanted to leisurely walk hand in hand with, instead of an opponent that you were always trying to outrun and leave in the dust.

Still, it wasn't in her nature to take to waiting. Her mama had always said that asking her to stay still was like asking a humming bird to come and sit on your finger. The sweet woman who had birthed her swore that her baby girl had fluttered around in her womb from the moment of conception, and had cursed her with the name _Bird_ out of sentiment alone.

In fact, the herbalist was just on the verge of forgetting all her southern manners, and allowing her active nature to take over. She raised her fist, about to pound the living day lights out of the high and mighty Dr.Ames' door when it swung open and her virtue was rewarded with a sweet smile she hadn't seen in much too long. "About damn time you let an old woman in."

Caleb leaned out the door and looked around. "What old woman? You bring a friend, Birdell?"

Bird rolled her brown eyes at the attempted charm and the nickname. She shoved past the young man with a huff. "No need for the flattery, boy. I'm already up and out of bed and all the way across town at the godforsaken hour of eight o'clock."

Caleb grinned and closed the door, leaning up against it as he did. "I really appreciate it, Bird. I promise I'll make it up to you."

She waved off the chatter and instead eyed the young man before her. He hadn't changed much in the two years since she'd seen him last. That was if you discounted the nasty bruise on his cheek, and the small row of stiches above his right brow. But he had at least gotten a hair cut.

The dark locks now just grazed the edges of his chislled jaw line instead of brushing his broad shoulders like some modern day Indian brave. It was an improvement in her book, but she still thought he needed to see a _real_ barber, although she was sure the current style had more than his fair share of the young ladies swooning at his size twelve boots.

"Let me look at you," Bird said, sitting her things down in the entranceway for a better scrutiny. She lifted her glasses from the ornate chain from where they dangled around her neck and placed them on her weathered face. The herbalist then leaned in a little closer and propped her hands on her slim hips, as if she were about to study a rare work of art.

"Lost a little weight," She clicked off. "Still with the ratty black t-shirt and faded jeans." Bird raised a brow. "With all that Ames money, you can't find a decent wardrobe?" Caleb stood still for the inspection, not daring to comment on the catolouging, but Bird didn't miss the little smirk, that reminded her so much of his grandmother. She did miss herdear friend, Ruth, something fierce.

Finally, she stepped back. "As handsome as ever," Bird proclaimed, choosing not to comment on the injuries. She slid her glasses off again. "What in the world was the maker thinking? Good thing he put a hint of the devil in that smile, or the angels would have been mighty jealous of that face." She picked up his left hand, purposefully stared at the naked ring finger. "I just don't understand it. What woman wouldn't want you? "

The hunter ducked his head and groaned. "Bird, you know I blush easily."

"Please," The apothecary snorted, dropping his hand. "You're as about as modest as a two dollar hooker, Caleb Reaves."

"Ah, Bird," Caleb smiled, affectionately, "As sweet and cultured as ever."

Bird grinned and unable to resist any longer, pulled him into a strong hug. "You want sweet and cultured you call your old man." She pounded him on the back a few times and then released him with a slight sniff. "You know I'm crusty and rude, and that's what you love about me."

He nodded. "That and your cooking." Caleb glanced at the covered pan at her feet. "That for me?"

"No," She replied, sharply. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in over two years , and the first thing you want to know is if I brought your breakfast?" Bird shook her head in disgust, silvery ponytail swishing back and forth. "Just like a man. If the bedroom door is rusted shut, then they're sure you should satisfy them in the kitchen."

Caleb shrugged. "What can I say? It's the nature of the beast." He grinned at her then. " But I have a feeling your bedroom door is well-oiled."

Bird fought off the slight blush that creeped in her cheeks, and quickly cleared her throat. "Speaking of the beast…what kind of monster did you bring me here to deal with this time? I thought you ghost busters had an exclusive club?" She frowned. "In fact, the last time I tried to help, your _father _told me in no uncertain terms to butt out."

The hunter sighed. "Mac didn't want you getting hurt, Bird. What we do is dangerous."

"All the more reason not to do it." She raised her hand when she saw the building argument brewing in the deep hazel eyes. "I know, I know. It's none of my damn business."

"I wasn't going to put it that way."

"Sugar-coat it all you want, it still means the same thing. So…" She raised an eyebrow, weary of the very old argument. "You told me to bring something for a fever and pain, but you look as healthy as a horse?"

"It's not for me," Caleb's grin faded, his gaze darted towards the hallway behind him, and Bird easily read the uncharacteristic worry and concern. "A friend of mine…"

"One of your gang?"

Something akin to a hurt look crossed his handsome face and Caleb frowned. "Gang?" He tried to imagine what Jim Murphy would think of that description. "Birdell, I don't belong to a gang."

"Then 'Brotherhood'," She made exaggerated quotes in the air, while rolling her eyes heavenward. "My daddy was a Mason, I get the whole secrecy thing, son. It's a boy's club. No women-folk allowed."

Caleb shook his head, twisted at the silver ring he always wore on his right hand. "It's not like that, Bird, " He said. "He's family."

Bird didn't miss the way he sort of flinched at the word, as if it were a shameful confession, or maybe as if it were merely foreign to his lips, and difficult to pronounce.

It shocked her. She had to admit.

Caleb had always struck her as a loner, even more so after his grandmother passed away, leaving him completely alone at thirteen. When he'd agreed to live with Mackland Ames all those years ago, she had imagined it was more out of the desire to avoid juvenile detention, than the need to belong to somebody. Told herself that it might have something to do with all of Ames' money and pull, and not the fact that he was a better fit for her best friend's grandson than she, herself, had been.

But the surly teen had surprised her by staying with the man, by not running the first chance he got. If she were honest, she'd admit that it even made her a little jealous because he'd run from her plenty of times, choosing the streets over any protection she could offer. After all, she, Bird Isbell, had been chosen by his own grandmother to watch after him. A shallow side of her had always resented Mac for it, even after she saw how Caleb had blossomed, become the man Ruth had wanted him to be.

And now…Caleb had claimed someone else as family.

A gift she had always wanted to give _him_. "Bird?" His soft voice brought her back from her selfish musings and she silently chastised herself. One look at his face and she knew he was taking a risk. The vulnerability in that usual aloof gaze had her a little weak in the knees. Ruth's boy was obviously taking a big chance bringing her here, trusting her with something so precious. She'd be damned if she let her stubborn pride screw it up.

"Where is he?" Bird picked up her bag, steeled herself to meet this person who had somehow done what she had failed at so many years ago.

The hesitant grin returned. "He's in the guest room." Caleb picked up her bags, and the coffee cake. "Follow me."

Bird wasn't sure what she had been expecting to find, but the sight that greeted her wasn't quite it.

A man, boy really, stood as they entered the room, his sharp green eyes going to Caleb's before settling on her in a way that let Bird know right away that she was being assessed for any threat she might offer. Bird didn't have to be a parent to recognize the protective look of one.

Of course that wasn't possible considering the good-looking blond kid in front of her couldn't have been a day over twenty and the object of his concern had to be at least fifteen, maybe older. That left one other option. Brothers.

Bird stepped towards the bed, well aware that she needed to tread softly. That same look that she'd seen in Caleb's eyes earlier now reflected back in the jade gaze watching her with such intensity. Again, she was taken at the trust being warily afforded her.

"Dean Winchester, this is Bird Isbell, the friend I was telling you about. Bird, this is Dean."

Dean nodded. "Mam," He said politely, before re-taking his seat at the boy's bedside once more.

Bird's eyes went back to Caleb, who had come to stand on the other side of the bed. For the second time that morning, the herbalist was somewhat shaken as she was granted another completely unexpected view of Caleb Reaves.

He gently rested his hand on the sleeping boy's forehead, his face registering something very similar to pain, before glancing up to meet her brown eyes. "This is Sam. He's why I brought you here."

Bird was still trying to remember a time when she had ever seen Caleb initiate physical contact with another person when the other boy's voice invaded her musings.

"Can you help him?" Dean spoke up, and the herbalist pulled her eyes away from Caleb only to find herself captured by this boy's helplessness.

She took a quick breath and steeled herself against the quick wave of anxiety that battled against her. "Well now, why don't one of you explain what's gotten young Sam in this state, and then tell me why in the hell one of you hasn't called a doctor, or Mackland for that matter?"

Bird caught the look Dean shot Caleb out of the corner of her eye and she would have grinned if the situation hadn't been so dire. "It's kind of a long story about the doctor, Birdell." Caleb said in a huff, as Bird positioned herself on the bed so she could get a better look at the sick boy. "Besides, you're practically a doctor, yourself."

She snorted as she laid a hand on Sam's face, feeling the heat radiating from the parched skin. "Your _father_ would quickly discount that little piece of flattery. And honestly, he'd be right in doing so. I dabble in homeopathic remedies, Caleb Reaves. That's not a replacement for professional help, especially when someone is as sick as your young friend seems to be."

"It's a spell," Dean spoke up and Bird glanced at him in surprise. The hesitancy was easily read in his young features, as if he wasn't use to being truthful about such things, but she was willing to wager that he'd do almost anything to help the young man in question.

"A spell?" She queried, trying not to sound condescending or naïve. "As in magic?"

"Yes," Caleb answered. "Voodoo."

Bird sighed, having lived too long, seen too much to discount something that sounded so absurd. She focused on Sam once more, her quick mind trying to imagine what kind of situation had landed a child in the center of a world where magic and voodoo could put his young life in danger.

His face was almost angelic in sleep, all sharp angles and well-defined planes. He had long dark hair that was sleep-tassled and messy looking, even though she would wager money that he wore it similar to that on a daily basis. She didn't see much physical resemblance to the brother that stood guard so valiantly at his side, besides the fact they were both striking. In fact, Sam shared more physical characteristics with Caleb. An ironic twist that she might have found amusing under other circumstances. It only took one look at the way the other two men were looking at him though to assume that this Sam was something quite special.

Bird ran practiced hands over the boy's lymph nodes and then raised each eye-lid, frowning at Caleb when she'd finished her quick exam. "Who drugged him?"

"I did," Caleb said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "I didn't have a choice."

"What did you give him?"

"Morphine," Came the hesitant reply and Bird shook her head.

"Damn, Caleb."

"Is he okay?" Dean asked, his eyes searching the sick boy's face as if for some clue that he was afraid he'd missed, that Bird might have seen.

The doubt in his voice had Bird quick to reassure him. "Yes, he's okay. But I don't like using something so strong. People often act too quickly, too forcefully, to quell the body's first line of defense." She glanced at Caleb. "I especially don't like to see it used on children."

"And I don't like seeing people I care about suffer," Caleb snapped slightly and Bird arched a brow.

"Don't be pissed at me, young man. I'm just trying to assess the situation. I'm not pointing fingers."

"Sounds like you are." Caleb mumbled, sounding much more like the sullen teen Bird was use to than the caring man she'd been privy to that morning.

"Tell me about this spell," She looked at Dean, wondering yet again at what kind of life Mackland Ames had pulled Caleb into.

The young man licked his lips. "We don't know a lot. Just that it's called Fire of the Blood. And it's some kick ass strong magic, probably sealed with the witch's blood, maybe even a sacrifice."

Bird shifted her brown eyes back to Caleb. "Sounds like something your grandmother would know a lot about. Too bad the old broad croaked on us."

The young man favored her with a half-smile. "At least she taught you some things," Caleb pointed out, hopefully.

"About herbs, not magic," Bird ran her fingers through Sam's soft brown hair and looked to Dean again. "Who did this?" _And where the hell are your parents? _

Dean glanced to Caleb, and Bird realized that she was only being tolerated because of her connection to the other man. "Let's just say they weren't nice people," Caleb answered, and as if he had read her mind he looked right at her and said in a cold voice. "Their father is looking for something that we need to fix this whole mess."

He looked away from her then and he and Dean seemed to share a silent conversation before Caleb was kneeling in the floor beside of her. "Can you do something about the symptoms, Bird? I'm not asking you to cure him. Like I said, John's taking care of that, but we just need to help him hold on in the mean time."

"John, huh?" Bird frowned, the name tickling at her memory. A _John_ had testified in court for Mackland, back when she had contested the foster arrangement. And Caleb had mentioned the name in passing more than once over the years. In fact, he had asked for a John once, while caught in the throws of a fever not too unlike the one Sam was now suffering. She had asked Mackland about it, only to be told the less she knew about their life, the better. The man was obviously another member of this secret family Caleb had kept hidden.

"Please."

Yet another word she'd never heard from Caleb's mouth startled her from her reverie, and Bird bit her lip. She let her gaze roam from Caleb to the boy on the bed and then to the other young man. She could feel the tension in the room; her shoulder's tightening under its weight. Finally, the herbalist sighed. "I have some things I can try, but I can't promise anything."

Caleb's smile widened, and he patted her knee. "I have faith in you, besides a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Right? "

Bird snorted, rolled her eyes. "You have your grandmother's strange sense of humor."

"And here all along I thought he had Mac's," Dean spoke up, a hint of a familiar grin tugging at his lips. For the first time, Bird was certain she might have to allow herself to like him. She'd be safe from the other one, as long as he didn't regain consciousness.

"Better _strange_ than dry and stale," She told the kid, with a wink. "But it's still a good thing he's easy on the eyes."

The kid feigned a look of sympathy, and pointed to the thick bifocals still dangling from around her neck. "You might want to try wearing those things, instead of using them for jewelry."

Bird laughed. "You may be right." She ignored the grunt from Caleb. "By the way, do you like Coffee Cake?"

"Great," Caleb growled. "_Him_, you'll feed, but not me? You've known me practically my whole life, Birdell."

"Which probably explains why she already likes me better," Dean jabbed.

"Shut up, Deuce." Caleb shot back.

"You," Bird pointed at Caleb, "Are going to be too busy to eat. I need some water boiled and some herbs ground."

"_You_ couldn't do that?"

Bird shamed him with a shake of her finger. "I could, but then I'm the guest here, now aren't I? Have you forgotten all the manners Ruth tried to drill in that thick head of yours?"

"No, mam," Caleb cowed, and again Bird was drawn to the kid who snorted at the older boy's chagrin.

"I could use some coffee, too," Dean added, and then motioned to Bird. " Bring some for the pretty lady, while you're at it."

"Black, no sugar," Bird added with a conspiratorial smile in Dean's direction. "Better bring some plates and forks also."

"Anything else?" Caleb stood, rested his hands on his jean-clad hips.

Bird dug in her bag, pulled out two pouches and handed them to Caleb. "Make sure these are fine as powder when you're finished."

The hunter rolled his eyes, mumbled something about respect, and left the room with a rather rude gesture in Dean's direction that he apparently thought Bird couldn't see. "I saw that," She called after him, turning an exasperated look on Dean. "Ames might as well flushed all that money he spent on prep school right down the toilet."

The young man shrugged. "At least he learned Latin."

Bird scoffed. "Like that's ever going to come in handy? "

Dean grinned. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Chapter 9- Coming Soon

A/N: Okay, everyone. To say this chapter gave me issues would be so understated that I can't even begin to explain. It would be painful to even attempt. For some reason, Bird hates me, and I'm not feeling the love for her right now either. But hopefully, we, well she and my muse anyway, will come to some kind of understanding, and she'll do her thing and be on her merry way. Soon. I'll try and stay out of the way. I promise. BTW, Hug a writer today. After fighting to the death with this chapter, I feel the need to send candy canes and lollipop thoughts to all my fellow masochists...I mean authors. Bg.


	9. Chapter 9

The Line

Ch. 9

A/N: _Hey everyone. This chapter is a little longer, but still the action is waiting in the wings. Chapter 10 promises to be full of it. And has action, too. BG I have loved reading all the reviews and unfortunately haven't had a chance to respond individually to many, due to returning to work. But to answer a few things 'Yes, WWFG will be finished. I have yet to send Ch.10 off to my new consultant, but will do so soon. And 'Yes' I Will be writing in the Company of Dragons-which will have Pastor Jim and Caleb. In fact a small mention is made of the events in The Company of Dragons in this chapter. Thanks so much for your interest in these works. I will do my best not to disappoint. Now, enough babbling. _

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The sun felt incredibly hot on his bare skin, and Sam was awash with an urgent need to get up. He assumed he'd fallen asleep on the bank of Jim's pond, where he and his brother had been fishing earlier, but couldn't for the life of him imagine Dean letting him lay there long enough to feel as miserable as he did.

As it was, his body seemed like it was on fire, the misery of it insisting he awake and make it to the shade, or better yet into the cool lapping water he could hear in the distance. The thought of water, had him swallowing reflexively, his extreme thirst making itself known as he emerged from the shelter of his nap.

Sam realized something was wrong the moment he tried to roll over. His muscles refused to cooperate, seemed to weigh a ton, as if gravity had played a nasty trick on him. He felt as weak as the proverbial kitten, as if he'd been swimming the last few hours instead of obviously napping. Even his head felt the density of a bowling ball, and a slight panic seized him as he was unable to even marginally lift it from the ground.

Then there were his eyelids that had apparently transformed into lead bay doors, and him lacking the strength to even raise a plastic blind. As if from a great distance, he heard himself speak, the intended name coming out sounding much more like a whimper than _Dean. _

More lapping of water, then the heavenly touch of something cool and wet against his skin. "Sam?"

The voice frightened him, despite the fact that it was soft and female. In fact, _that_ may have inspired the fear; because the tone conjured a vision of a dark-haired woman with an inviting smile, and deceitful eyes. _Syria. _

Sam realized in an instant he wasn't at Pastor Jim's, hadn't been in almost a week, and then reality slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer as his foggy brain cleared enough to recall the real reason for his discomfort.

Strength born of terror surged through him, giving him the ability to open his eyes, at least move his arms which he brought up in a defensive posture. "No," He managed to get past his parched lips. "Don't."

"It's okay. Take it easy, child," The woman's voice said again, and Sam blinked furiously, trying to clear the blurred, wavering picture in front of him.

Well-honed self-preservation instincts kicked in and Sam managed to roll away just as hands floated his way. The teen almost tumbled from the bed in an effort to escape the witch that had poisoned him, memories of the pain he had battled earlier urging him in his escape. But a strong grip caught him before he could hit the floor and he struggled to evade the grasp until Caleb's deep voice stopped him. "Sammy! Cut it out. You're okay."

"Caleb?" The name came out in a rush of breath and Sam tried to focus on the face above him. It wasn't who Sam was expecting, but at least it was someone safe.

"Yeah. It's me." The older hunter carefully pushed the younger boy back onto the mattress. "Take it easy."

Sam frowned, his dark gaze leaving Caleb's as it skirted around the room, searching for the one person who could completely take the panic away. "He's taking a shower-he's just down the hall."

"Dean?" Sam said the name anyway, knowing he sounded like a child but needinghis big brother more than he needed to feel grown up. Caleb nodded to the stranger. "Bird, go get Deuce."

The woman moved and Sam flinched, sidling closer to Caleb. Images were still blurring, making everything seem like some sort of whacked fun house. He hated fun houses. "Easy," Caleb soothed, "She's a friend."

Bird waited for the teen to still before making her way around the bed, allowing her access to the door. "Syria?" Sam asked, confusion still lacing his rough voice.

"No." Caleb shook his head. "She's not here, kid. She's not getting near you."

Something about the confidence in Caleb's voice allowed Sam to breathe a little easier, to hold the fear at bay. But still a neurotic need to actually _see _Dean was waiting in the wings, threatening to take over.

Caleb must have sensed it, maybe read his mind, because he kept a grip on the teen's shoulder, stayed close, something that Sam would find mortifying later on. After all, Sam was usually unflappable, as fearless as his big brother, which was saying a hell of a lot. And it was embarrassing to have Caleb see him so out of sorts. Not that it was the first time, but Sam fought hard to be accepted as an equal, especially with the older hunter and Dean.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked again before he could stop himself , and Caleb realized that the morphine was still probably coursing through the boy's system, aiding the high fever in confusing the kid, mottling his thoughts.

"He's coming. Just hang in there." When Sam resisted Caleb moving away, the older hunter also blamed the drug for the uncharacteristic clinginess. He could feel the struggle in the younger man, knew he was battling against the overwhelming sensations assaulting him, and it set every one of Caleb's protective instincts on edge. He wanted to kill Hughes, was now positive that he should have done it years ago- no matter what it might have cost him at the time.

The last time he remembered having felt such an overwhelming need to shield the half-grown man in front of him was when Sam had been seven and the boy's own grandfather had come to take him away. Standing there in Pastor Jim's driveway holding back a struggling twelve-year-old Dean as Sam was dragged away from them was the first time Caleb seriously considered taking a human life. It would have been so easy.

And it was also one of the first times Caleb had known real fear-learned of its power to bring even the strongest and bravest of men to their knees- a man like John Winchester. In fact, after watching his hero suffer, he'd sworn to himself never to fall victim to such weakness himself, but here he was-kneeling under its weight, helpless to stop its control over him.

"Let me get you some water. Okay?"

Sam nodded, and Caleb released his shoulders, standing, feeling steadier the instant he placed distance between himself and the teen. He walked around the bed, retrieved a glass from the nightstand and filled it from the pitcher that Bird had asked him to bring in earlier.

"Dad?" Sam asked as he took the glass with slightly trembling hands.

"He's still gone," Caleb answered, ready to grab the glass if need be, hoping like hell he didn't have to help the kid with it. But a sudden, vivid image of giving _little_ Sammy a sippy cup flashed through his mind and he took an awkward step forward, urged on by the memory of caring for the toddler. Luckily his rescue arrived in the form of the expert on the subject of everything _Sam. _

"Hey," Dean entered the room, hastily tugging a t-shirt over his head, his hair still dripping from his interrupted shower. "You're awake." He crossed the floor, his gaze moving from Sam's to Caleb, unable to discern exactly why the older hunter looked almost as shaken as his little brother.

"Dean," Sam breathed, the relief palpable. Caleb still had to grab the glass of water from him as it tipped dangerously in the teen's grasp.

Dean sat on the bed, laid the back of his hand against Sam's forehead. "Well, I'd say I'm glad to see your ugly mug, but you have shitty timing as usual. I was just getting into that whole steam-sauna shower thing that Mac's got going on in his master bath, when Bird burst in like a one-woman S.W.A.T."

"Sorry," Sam offered, his eyelids blinking a few times, allowing the pull of the drugs to knock him off balance again, now that his safety net had arrived.

"You're still hot," Dean commented, his concerned gaze meeting Caleb's again, before flitting back to his brother. "Are you in pain? Like before? "

Sam shook his head. "Just my head. The rest of me feels kind of floaty."

"You can thank Dr. Feel Good over there for that."

The teen cut his gaze to Caleb. "Did he knock me out? Is that why my skull feels like it's trying to explode."

"No. That would be a side effect of the morphine these two pumped you full of." Bird announced, having heard the boy's question as she re-entered the room. The herbalist was carrying a silver tray with several tea cups on it, which she carefully deposited onto the nightstand. "It has quite the bite, kind of like a really bad hangover."

Sam stared expectantly at his brother who forced a grin. "Caleb's girlfriend, Bird, " He explained, and then winked at the woman. "I know what you're thinking. She's so out of his league."

"I hope these two have not influenced you, young man. I don't know if the world can handle much more of their brand of charm."

The teen attempted a weak smile. "I know better."

"Don't let the innocent look fool you, Birdell. He's a whole different kind of trouble."

"He sure looks like a load of trouble what with those dimples and all." She glanced up at Caleb. "A sure-fire sign of mischief."

The other hunter frowned, as if to erase his own incriminating mark. "He's twice as bad as I was at that age."

"Then I'll just have to be on guard," Bird patted Sam's blanket-covered knee as she took a seat on the other side of him, and held out a small tea cup. "I hope you like tea."

Sam flinched and Dean squeezed his arm. "It's okay. I think we can trust her." He forced a smile. "No red spiky heels. That really should have been our first clue."

The tactic worked and the older Winchester was relieved to see Sam at least fake a grin. "As long as it doesn't have raspberry in it."

"No raspberries." Bird looked thoughtful. "But it does have Dandelion, Devil's Bit, and a touch of Dog Rose."

Dean took the cup and sniffed it suspiciously. "Flowers?"

"Caleb did tell you I was an herbalist?" She took the cup back from Dean with a chaste look and held it out for Sam once more. "These flowers have properties that will fight the fever, and I've also added a little something to help you sleep."

The teen took the cup and after another look at his brother drank it down, with a grimace. "That's terrible," He coughed, giving the woman her cup back, with an accusing glare.

"Didn't say it wasn't." She patted his leg again. "Just that it didn't have raspberries." She looked at the older Winchester. "Make sure you get him to drink as much of this as possible, along with plenty of water. And if the fever continues, you can always try ice packs or a cold bath."

"Thanks," Dean told her as he helped Sam ease back down against the pillows.

"You're welcome. And I've left another brew with pain relieving properties," Bird looked at Caleb. "It might not be as effective as Morphine, but I don't suggest using that again unless it's necessary. The other tea should take most of the edge off."

Reaves nodded. "Do you have any other ideas about this?"

"Well, " Bird frowned, "Considering I really don't understand what _this_ is, and that I don't have training in special counter herbs for Voodoo spells, I'd have to say no."

"That's okay. Dad will fix it." Dean said, confidently, and when he sought out Caleb's gaze, the older hunter nodded, reassuringly.

"Right. Of course he will. Johnny will take care of everything."

Bird sighed. "I hope this John is the miracle worker you boys think he is."

"Closest thing we got," Sam added, drowsily.

"Then I hope to see you again, young man." Bird leaned in a little closer. "You can fill me in on all the things Caleb has been up to over these last few years. I'd love to know why there is no Mrs. Reaves yet."

Dean snorted. "I can clue you in on that little secret."

"Yeah," Caleb interjected smoothly. "The law of supply and demand, Birdell. Too many interested parties, not enough of me to go around."

The woman laughed, and Sam glanced up at her. "But he tries really hard to keep as many satisfied customers as possible. Like the Wal-mart of dating."

"Says the runt who hasn't even kissed a girl yet," Caleb replied with a huff. "You know the rule, no commenting on my love life until you have one of your own."

"Oh he's kissed a girl…" Dean started only to receive the full-on Winchester glare.

"Dean…"

The older Winchester held his hands up. "Hey, I wasn't going to violate big brother confidentiality."

Bird cleared her throat, obviously trying to quell the growing argument before it could turn into an ugly bloodbath. "As much as I would love to stay and have a testosterone-driven chat with you strapping boys, I do have a business to get back to." She looked at Caleb. "That is if the ladies man here will walk me out."

"I think I can manage that."

"Thanks again, Bird." Dean said, seriously. "We owe you one."

"I'll remember that. The next time I invite Caleb for dinner, I'll put out two extra plates." She squeezed Dean's shoulder as she rounded the bed, glanced down at Sam. "Take care of each other."

Dean nodded and waited until he and Sam were once more alone before reclaiming his seat on the side of the bed.

"She was nice," Sam's voice brought the older hunter's full attention back to him.

"Yeah. Who would have guessed Caleb knew women that came out in the light of day."

The sixteen-year-old watched his brother shift nervously on the bed, his hand fiddling with the bedspread. "You okay?" He asked.

Dean laughed, though no humor was detectable. "I'm not the one looking like death warmed over, dude."

Sam saw the subterfuge for what it was. "It's always hardest on those left behind."

The older hunter rolled his eyes. "Didn't we just see that on a Starsky & Hutch re-run at Jim's? In fact, this whole poisoning thing has Seventies drama stamped all over it."

Sam sighed, "Maybe Duran's a fan."

The twenty-year-old nodded. "The freak's probably into disco, too."

The teen shifted on the bed, wincing as some of the feeling flooded back into his legs. "Sequins and paten leather-that's a disturbing image."

"Yeah, I have a feeling Duran's disturbing on more level than one."

"Caleb doesn't like him." Sam pointed out, trying to keep himself distracted from not only the returning pain, but the lull of the drugs. There were some things he and Dean needed to get straight, before he drifted off again.

The older Winchester looked down at his hands, oddly comforted by the flash of silver on his finger. "Who _does_ Caleb really like? He's not exactly Mr. Personality."

"And _you_ have room to talk."

Dean grinned. " Friends are overrated."

"But brothers aren't."

Sam had the satisfaction of watching slight surprise register in Dean's green eyes. "No…I guess they aren't."

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

He watched the surprise give way to confusion. "What are you talking about? I'm fine. Do we need to have everyone who drank poisoned tea raise their hands to clarify."

Irritation was usually Dean's second line of defense after humor failed. "I mean…if Dad's not able to change this."

"Sam…" Dean warned, his tone growing angry, but the teen went on. "We're not having this conversation."

"I mean it, Dean. You look worse than me."

"That's not even possible, zombie boy."

Sam closed his eyes, swallowed hard. "Dean…Dad can't go through with this trade. He can't let Duran bring Scott Kline back to life. That's against everything we believe in."

He was completely surprised to feel the roughness of his brother's hand on his forehead, and with a will he didn't know he possessed , Sam forced his eyes open once more.

"All I know is that nothing's going to happen to you. **Nothing**. The only thing I believe is that I'm going to fix this. I don't care what it takes."

Sam swallowed again, forcing down the lump of emotions that was suddenly clogging his throat. "That's what Duran's counting on, bro."

Dean let his hand slide through Sam's hair before removing his touch all together. "Then I guess the son of a bitch is smarter than he looks."

"Dean?"

The older hunter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily. "Yeah, Sam?"

"You know Duran probably doesn't have a body either. He'll want Dad, or you and Caleb to get that for him, too."

Dean glanced down at the floor, studied the intricate pattern of the designer rug. If it came to that , Dean was pretty sure of what he'd do. In fact, he was certain his father and Caleb felt the same way. Maybe it _wouldn't _come to that. "Go to sleep, Sammy." He looked back up at his brother. "Just go to sleep, and everything will be okay."

Sam wondered if the irony in that statement was lost on his big brother.

There was a time, when Dean would promise him just the opposite. On numerous nights, in a hundred different places, Dean would bring his brother from the terror of a nightmare with the simple phrase, 'Just wake up, Sammy. Wake up, and it will all be over.' Those words had always been enchanted, but now they seemed to mock them.

This wasn't a bad dream that Dean could chase away. But Sam wouldn't be the one to tell him that…not now. "Okay," He sighed, letting his lids slide close. Letting the lie wrap around him like a blanket-lull him back to sleep. Letting it keep his brother safe-for as long as it allowed.

Dean didn't know how long he had sat there watching his younger brother sleep before Caleb came back in. But from the ache in his neck when he turned too quickly to look at the other hunter as he brushed past his shoulder , Dean was pretty sure it had been a while.

"How's he doing?"

"Better since Bird's flower-powered mojo."

Caleb moved to the side of Sam's bed and stared down at the teen. The rare concerned look on the older man's face kept Dean from accusing him of reading Sam. And for a brief moment Dean thought he might trace a hand over Sam's hair, the way he'd seen their father do when Sam was a boy. The same way Dean had done only moments earlier.

But instead Caleb shoved both his hands through his own dark hair, a sigh of frustration escaping him. "I hate to fucking wait."

"Join the club." Dean leaned forward, stretching his arms above his head as he did. "Dad should be back soon though. Right?"

Caleb took the chair across from Dean. "I expect he'll be a while."

Dean didn't like the implications that had for his little brother, but he didn't have the energy to do battle with shadows any longer. "You think this hunter will meet him?"

Caleb rubbed a hand over his day's growth of beard. He looked older than his twenty-eight years then , more tired than Dean recallled seeing him in a very long time. "Yeah."

"Who is this guy anyway?"

"Just a guy, Deuce."

Dean rolled his eyes, when he recognized the tone of voice. "I'm not a kid anymore."

Caleb laughed. "Funny. You sounded so much like Sammy just then."

"Fuck you, man."

The hunter rolled his eyes, as if Dean was making a big deal out of nothing. "Really, kid, the guy's not a major player. He used to be, from what I hear. He and Jim were tight once. But I think the whole hunting thing got to Elkins- started seeing the big bad everywhere. He lost his whole family. And the years took their toll."

"He flipped out."

Caleb shrugged. "That's one way to look at it."

"But he can be trusted?" Dean looked doubtful.

"Who knows, man. I'm not the person to ask about trust. This room holds nearly half the people on my short list." The other hunter held his gaze. "But he's still one of us."

Dean cut his eyes to Sam, and then glanced back to Caleb. "So is Duran."

Caleb didn't say anything for a moment, but then his face took on a grim look, one Dean had witnessed on occasion. It usually happened after a gig had gone south, or something warranted a seriousness that the older hunter wasn't quite comfortable with. "Not really."

"He wears the ring." Dean had grown up, just like Caleb, knowing to respect that symbol for what it was. A link to something bigger than any individual.

Caleb frowned. "He's in the brotherhood, but that doesn't make him one of _us_."

"Like Dad said, that's splitting hairs." Dean was determined to play Devil's advocate. "The rules still apply."

The older hunter sighed. "Maybe."

Dean stayed quiet for a moment, but then his thoughts started back down the dark path that led to an ending he wasn't quite ready to face and he glanced to Caleb again. "You really think Duran's got a poor stiff lined up for the second part of this plan? Even if he gets Echnon's blade, I have a feeling Scotty Kline's old shell won't be in very good condition."

Caleb looked at him. "The way I see it, there's two kinds of hunters. Those who do their own hunting, and those who scavenge from another predator's kills."

Dean nodded, thoughtfully. "You ever see Duran hunt anything on his own?"

"No." Caleb licked his lips, swallowed thickly. "I haven't."

"Peachy," Dean groaned, palmed his eyes, before rubbing at his aching neck.

"My grandmother would have called Hughes a raven."

Dean quirked a brow at the other hunter. "Raven? Why's that?"

"Because, ravens are real smart. Sort of devious, but cunning just the same. They have this relationship, a kind of arrangement, with wolves. The bird will lead a lone wolf, or the entire pack, to a fresh kill. Then it will wait for them to do all the hard work-removing the outer flesh and the bones of the animal to get to the soft organs inside that the wolves like."

Dean frowned. "Let me guess. Then the ravens swoop down while the wolves are distracted and feast on the discarded parts."

"Yeah." Caleb twisted the ring on his finger. "Duran leads other hunters where they need to be, then they do the work for him, finish the gig, and he reaps the rewards. So to answer your question, there isn't any way in hell that Hughes has a body on ice, especially considering he needs a living volunteer, that is if Kline doesn't want his son walking around like something off the set of the _Living Dead._"

The twenty-year-old frowned, watched Caleb's face carefully. "He ever do that to you?"

"Do what?" Caleb seemed slightly confused by the change in subject.

"Lead you into something, just to get what he wanted?" There was something between Reaves and Hughes that Dean didn't completely get, couldn't quite put his finger on. Caleb rarely lost his cool, played things close to the vest, but Duran had easily provoked him-had pushed his buttons, seemingly without even trying to. And it bothered Dean that Hughes had used _him_ to do it.

Caleb hesitated, and Dean knew he was only going to get an edited version of the truth. "Let's just say, I got a little too gung-ho once- was a little too eager for a kill."

"You?" The younger hunter jested. "I find that hard to believe, man."

Reaves ignored him and went on. "It was a long time ago and I was too damn cocky for my own good. Imagine **you**, only a lot better looking. Hughes led me right to the spirit, just like he promised. But when things took a turn for the worse, when he got his belly full, he up and flew away, before it was finished."

Dean clenched his fists. "He left you behind?"

"Bastard sure didn't stick around to see if I was breathing. I would have bled out if Jim hadn't found me."

"Well, he's not going to fly away this time," the younger hunter spoke softly, but each word rang with a forced calm. "I'm going to finish him."

Caleb looked down at his clasped hands, carefully twisted the silver ring on his finger around with his thumb. "Like you said, Deuce, he's still in the brotherhood."

"I don't care." Dean's gaze went to his little brother, and then back to Reaves. "You know that's not as important as family."

"I know," Caleb said, hesitantly. He rubbed at the ring again, felt the coolness of the metal against his skin, sensed the slight hum of electricity that he could always detect running through the ore, connecting him to the others.

The brotherhood was the only thing he had ever truly belonged to. It was his grip on humanity when everything else in his fucked up life reeked of his cursed heritage. Being a hunter had rescued him from a future he didn't want to imagine, but it hadn't quite saved him…that he owed to something else. He glanced back up at Dean, met the intense green gaze. "That's why I'm going to help you do it."

Chapter 10-coming soon

A/N: The little trivia fact about wolves and ravens is true to my knowledge. I borrowed it from a wonderful book I read this summer called, _Wild Dogs_. I don't know why I liken the Brotherhood to wolves, but I do. Maybe its their loyalty and kinship, the mystery and spirituality that surrounds them. Or it could be a weird author thing, that nobody else even notices. In that case, ignore my rambling. BG.


	10. Chapter 10

The Line

Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting everyone. I had slight technical difficulties, meaning I lost my entire two hours of corrections last night, so instead of trying to fix it then, I curled up in bed and used my Black Lab security blanket named Bell to soothe my frayed nerves, so that I wouldn't actually kill someone today. Big shout out to Tidia who gave this a once over, although all mistakes are all mine. Her suggestions undoubtedly made this a much clearer piece, as I tend to run on and get caught up in my own mind-thinking readers are psychic or something. And did I mention that the site was down so when I did try to post again...I couldn't. Good, thing us writers get paid so well or I'd be really miffed.

Also, Will and I want to say a super thanks to everyone who reviewed WWJD! THANKS! I would have made it bigger but formatting would't allow it. Apparently 'formatting' doesn't understand our appreciation.

Any who, I've kept you hanging long enough. On with the story.

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"_Well, he's not going to fly away this time," the younger hunter spoke softly, but each word rang with a forced calm. "I'm going to finish him."_

_Caleb looked down at his clasped hands, carefully twisted the silver ring on his finger around with his thumb. "Like you said, Deuce, he's still in the brotherhood."_

"_I don't care." Dean's gaze went to his little brother and then back to Reaves. "You know that's not as important as family."_

"_I know," Caleb said, hesitantly. He rubbed at the ring again, felt the coolness of the metal against his skin, and sensed the slight hum of electricity that he could always detect running through the ore, connecting him to the others._

_The brotherhood was the only thing he had ever truly belonged to. It was his grip on humanity when everything else in his fucked up life reeked of his cursed heritage. Being a hunter had rescued him from a future he didn't want to imagine, but it hadn't quite saved him…that he owed to something else. He glanced back up at Dean, met the intense green gaze. "That's why I'm going to help you do it."_

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Dean ran the cloth along his brother's forehead again, relieved when Sam moaned and his lashes fluttered against his pale skin. It had been hours since Bird had gone, and Dean was beginning to get antsy. Sam had drifted in and out through the day, drinking more of the tea each time, but as the afternoon quickly gave way to quickly encroaching night his bouts of consciousness seem to grow shorter and more painful, despite the curative herbs Bird had left them with.

"Sam?" He asked softly, placing the compress back in the cold water. "You with me?"

"Dean?" The dark gaze that met his was more lucid this time, but where the drug-induced dullness had been, there was now more than a hint of discomfort.

"You were expecting Florence Nightingale?" He joked, hoping to hold the inevitable at bay for a little longer.

"Where's…Caleb?" Sam asked, hoarsely.

Dean frowned. "He went to grab us something to eat. He'll be back soon."

"Has… he heard from Dad?"

"Yeah, he called a few hours ago. He got the blade. Should be back anytime now."

"I feel sick."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, probably all that tea on an empty stomach. You want to try for some soup again." They had already attempted the eating thing once, to the unfortunate demise of Mac's designer comforter and silk sheets.

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I just want it all to stop."

"I wish I could make that happen for you, kiddo. But it will be over soon. I promise."

The teen forced his lids up again and looked at his brother. "Are you sure Caleb just went for food?"

"Dude, what's up with you and the demonic wonder? I know for a fact my bedside manner is a hundred times better than his."

Sam's brow furrowed. "I…don't want him doing anything stupid."

"Like?" Dean frowned. "Getting anchovies on my pizza? 'cause that would suck and I would so have to kick his ass. He knows I hate the hairy minnows."

"No," Sam shook his head, licked his dry lips, "Like... picking up a new body for Scott Kline's soul."

Now it made sense. "Sammy," Dean breathed, "Caleb's not out hunting for Hughes a victim. The man said he'd trade the blade for the antidote. He didn't mention a body."

"He didn't mention that he was willing to kill me either," Sam pointed out, weakly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You made your point, Mister Gloom. But let's worry about that when we have to."

The doorbell rang and Sam looked up at his brother. "Like now?"

The twenty-year-old looked towards the hall. "It could be Caleb. Or Dad."

"They both have keys."

Dean grabbed his cell from the night stand; hit the key that would dial Caleb. "We've got company," He said as soon as Reaves answered.

Sam watched the older Winchester's face as he listened to whatever the demon hunter was saying on the other end. "Makes sense." Dean glanced towards the door again, held the phone tighter to his ear. "He doesn't want to give us time to regroup-he's hoping to keep us off balance."

The doorbell rang again, and Sam heard Caleb's loud voice as if he were in the room with them. Dean winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear. "Right, I got it. You'll flay the skin from his bones and send him to hell." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and made a mocking motion with his hand. "I'll be sure and convey the message."

Dean frowned again and Sam knew that Reaves was getting too close to sounding like their father. "I'm not stupid."

Sam didn't have to be privy to both sides of the conversation to know that Caleb had just told Dean not to provoke Hughes, to do the one thing that went against his nature-sit still and wait.

"Whatever, dude." Dean sighed, his jaw clenching. "I said I would, damn it!"

Dean cut the connection and shot Sam a frustrated glance. "Do I have idiot tattooed on my forehead?"

Sam forced a half-grin. "Is that a trick question?"

"Funny," Dean smirked, pushing off the bed and putting the cell in his brother's hand. "If I'm not back in two minutes, call Caleb again. Or better yet-9-1-1."

"Be careful." Sam ordered, with more energy than he could spare. He didn't want to let his brother out of his sight, but the doorbell was ringing again, and whoever was waiting had resorted to pounding on the wooden structure. "And don't do anything stupid."

"Now you sound like Hell Boy," Dean shook his head. "I can control myself when I have to."

"Can…yes," Sam raised a brow. "Will…unlikely."

Dean ignored him and walked out of the room, drawing the door shut behind him, as he left the room. It was a short walk through the hallway into the massive, open living room, but he took his time getting to the door.

He'd be damned if he gave Hughes the pleasure of looking shaken, even though that was exactly how he felt. The cold metal of his gun pressing against his back was somewhat reassuring, but the fact that he couldn't actually kill Duran without hurting Sam was still an annoying fact.

"What, no donuts this time?" Dean said once the door was open, revealing Hughes and a tall, gray-haired man in an expensive suit. "Or is this guy your personal chef?"

"This is Mr. Kline." Duran replied, crossing the threshold before Dean could offer. "He wanted to be present for the exchange."

The twenty-year-old hunter eyed the business man. "And here I thought he was a rich coward, afraid to get blood on his hands."

"And this fine specimen of testosterone and sinew is Dean Winchester," Hughes explained to Kline, whose face had reddened at the boy's insult. "John's first born-a chip off the old block."

Dean ignored them, glancing out into the hallway. "Where's your lap dog?"

When Duran tilted his head in question, Dean shut the door. "You know, pit bull disguised as a French poodle?"

"Syria," Hughes smiled, "will be here soon."

"Had to wait for the sun to go down to leave her coffin, huh?"

"Actually, she was finishing the elixir that will save young Sam's life."

"A life she put in danger in the first place."

"Semantics," Duran waved his hand in the air, his gaze darting around the room. "How's he doing by the way?"

Dean felt his pulse quicken, and tried to control his flaring anger. So much for remaining calm. "What the hell are you doing here, Hughes? Caleb said he would call you when Dad got back with the blade."

Duran's ice blue eyes locked on Dean. "Where is Caleb?"

"You didn't answer my question. Why should I answer yours?"

"I know he's not here, because he wouldn't have allowed you in the same room with me, not without him here to chaperone."

"Caleb isn't my keeper."

Hughes shot a look to Kline, who looked more impatient than interested in their dialogue. "He has spirit, doesn't he? I like that." Duran moved around Mac's living room, eyeing the artwork and sculptures. "That was one of the first things that I noticed about Caleb when Mac first brought him into our exclusive little club. I knew we'd be fast friends."

"Yeah, he said to tell you hello, by the way." Dean smirked. "Actually he said to tell you he was going to enjoy peeling the flesh from your bones and watching you burn in hell, but hey, semantics…right?"

Duran leaned against the sofa and laughed. "I'm really not as bad as he makes me out to be." He took a step closer to Dean. "I feel that he's poisoned you against me, before we even had a chance to get to know one another. After all, Caleb has his dark side, too. Perhaps when this is all over, we can start fresh-almost like entirely different people."

"Oh, I don't communicate with the dead. That's more of a medium thing, isn't it?"

Before Hughes could comment further on the barely veiled threat on his life, a loud crash from the bedroom drew everyone's attention.

"Sammy," Dean swore under his breath, torn between going to his brother and keeping Duran as far away as possible.

"Sounds like young Sam might be in trouble."

"Stay here." Dean ordered, pointing a finger at Hughes before quickly making his way back to Sam. He pushed open the door and let out a sigh, laced both with relief and irritation.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His brother's lanky body was twisted on the floor by the bed, entangled with broken glass, books, and blankets.

"Coming to find you," Sam replied, still trying to extricate himself from the mess he'd made of the plates and cups on the nightstand.

Dean stalked over and with a touch that belied the angry look on his face, levered his brother off the floor and back onto the edge of the bed. "Damn it, Sammy, I told you to _call_ for help if there was trouble-which there is not."

Sam's eyes stung both from the constant pain now assaulting his body and from the frustration of feeling so completely helpless. "I…was worried."

"Are you hurt?" Dean asked, noticing the watery, hazel gaze. His eyes searched Sam's pale face and hands. "Did you cut yourself?"

"No," Sam shook his head. He shoved meekly at the touch ghosting over his body, flaring up even more sensations from his frayed nerves. "I'm…okay. Only thing hurt…is my pride."

Dean snorted. "You're as clumsy as a newborn giraffe on a good day, Legs. No need to get all self-conscious now."

"You're a lot of help," Sam grunted. "I…feel so much better now."

"Good," Dean eased him back against the pillows that he'd propped up. "I can go play the happy host and entertain the psychos until Caleb and Dad get here."

"No need to put yourself out," Duran purred, skulking in the entrance of the bedroom. He was nursing a glass of Mac's favorite Scotch. "I've helped myself and Mr. Kline has gone to the little boy's room."

Dean felt his brother tense through the hand he still had on Sam's arm, at the same time his cell phone rang from somewhere on the floor.

"Better answer that," Hughes drifted into the room, leaned against the bureau. "Don't want Caleb to worry. He might kill himself trying to get back here in time to save you two."

The oldest Winchester considered letting the thing ring, but Hughes was probably right. It was Caleb. He bent in the floor, using his hand to feel for the cell, while keeping Duran pinned with a threatening gaze.

Finally his fingers closed around it and a large piece of glass from a saucer as well. He hissed, his eyes instinctively leaving Duran going to the guilty culprit. Dean winced as he opened his hand enough for the porcelain shard to slip from his palm, but managed to keep a hold on the cell.

"Yeah," He snapped into the phone, bracing it between his ear and shoulder, as blood dripped from his finger tips onto the floor. Dean felt more than saw his brother's concerned gaze as he grabbed the cloth from the bowl of water and twisted it around the cut across his hand.

"I'm fine!" He snapped into the cell, but glanced at Sam to let him know that the sentiment was aimed at him, also. "Stay out of my head," Dean added, softer, shooting a glance in Duran's direction, who smiled knowingly.

"How the hell do you know I'm bleeding?" Sam heard his brother ask in exasperation and wasn't surprised when Dean's face twisted in irritation, before he favored him with another appraising look. "He's hanging in there."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean moved his gaze to Duran. "He's right here."

"Tell him I said hello," Hughes grinned.

"He said fuck you." Dean replied, not even giving Caleb time to answer.

"That sounds much nicer than the flaying skin thing, I have to say." Duran lifted his drink in a jested toast. "Cheers."

Dean ignored him, as he tied the make-shift bandage off, speaking into the phone once more. "Right. Five minutes. I think I can hold off that long."

He hit the end button, and glanced back to Hughes. "Caleb's in the parking garage. Dad just pulled in, too."

"Perfect timing." Duran nodded. "The board is almost set."

"What about your queen?" The younger hunter asked. "There won't be any play unless she shows up."

"She'll be here." Duran had wandered over to the balcony doors, opened them and glanced out at the reddened horizon. The city was bustling below. "It will be dark soon."

"Maybe you weren't so off on that whole Elvira thing, Sammy," Dean muttered to his brother, who had grown quiet during the whole exchange with Caleb and Duran.

"Told you," He replied finally, with a slight shudder.

Dean reached down and pulled one of the blankets from the floor, shaking it free of any glass before slipping it over his brother. "Try to get some rest okay. This is almost over."

Duran walked back towards them, leaving the French doors agape, allowing the summer air into the room. "I really didn't want it to come to this, you know."

"Save your breath, Hughes." Dean still stood in front of Sam, watching the medium like he would a circling vulture. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

"Still-I had hoped John would be more receptive to my idea. Things could have gone so differently if he'd only helped me. If Caleb would have been willing to put our past behind him-forgiven my slight."

"That's not going to happen."

"I suppose. He isn't exactly the forgiving type."

"Neither am I." Dean made his way closer to Hughes. "Especially when my family is involved."

"Family is very important to you," Duran looked towards the door as Kline entered, appearing even more shaken and agitated than before. "I assumed that you of all people would be sympathetic to his cause-would want to help."

"You're not helping him, Duran. Or his kid." The younger hunter shook his head. "You're just helping yourself to the old man's money."

"You make it seem so black and white, cut and dry." Hughes smile melted. "So much of life and death is in the gray, Dean. Good little soldiers like you only make matters harder on yourselves by adhering to your strict moral standards. In reality, rigid lines get blurred, unyielding barriers get crossed. It's the way of the_ real_ world."

"There's only good and evil, Hughes." Dean didn't even flinch as the man invaded more of his personal space. "There is no supernatural Sweden to hide in."

Before Duran could reply, a door slammed in the front of the apartment, heralding the arrival of the rest of the players. A breathless John and Caleb burst into the bedroom as if ferocious demon dogs were close on their tails. The two hunters zeroed in on Duran and Dean didn't miss that the man actually looked somewhat hesitant as he took a step back away from him. "So glad you two could finally join us." Hughes regained his cocky front. "Although I must say, John, you have looked better."

Dean had to agree with the man. His father's eyes were bloodshot, his skin starkly ashen in the areas not covered by clothes or days growth of beard. Despite the palpable adrenaline rolling off him in waves, Dean instantly saw through the intensity, picking up on the sheer exhaustion underneath. The oldest Winchester barely glanced in their direction as he made his way to Sam, completely focused on his youngest son. "You okay?"

Dean imagined his brother was fighting the urge to roll his eyes, but he heard the quiet affirmative reply of 'yes, sir' instead.

Caleb had placed himself near Kline, but was ignoring him completely in a way Dean recognized, had seen the older hunter do countless times. Caleb didn't deal well with people, in fact he ignored most, unless they were of the feminine persuasion, and that was merely a physical connection.

"Someone left the door open," Syria's soft voice interrupted, sending more electrical charge into the already explosive room.

"And look what the cat dragged in," Dean said in return, eliciting a dour look from the woman.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me?" She glanced down at her white tank top and short, tight red skirt, and then up at Dean. "I dressed up for the occasion."

"You could have come in nothing but the little anklet with the bells on it, and I still wouldn't have been keen on seeing you, sweetheart."

"She is here to help," Duran pointed out. "That is...as soon as I get what I need." He looked expectantly at John, who stepped away from Sam. Winchester pushed back his jacket, withdrew a package wrapped in old newspaper.

"I have what you want." John tore the paper away and let it drop to the floor.

He stepped toe to toe with the medium, handed him the blade.

Duran eyed the simple, iron structure with an appraising gaze. "Echnon was apparently a man of dull artistic sense."

"I guess you would have added some tacky jewels," Dean smirked at the man. "Maybe a fur-covered handle and shiny leather sheath?"

Hughes smiled. "You really shouldn't mock your elders, young Winchester."

"You've gotten what you came for, Duran." John gestured to where Sam was. "Now give my son what you promised."

Hughes glanced towards Syria, who lifted the bottom of her skirt to remove an ornate flask that was strapped high on the inside of her thigh. She held the silver container out to the teen, but Dean intercepted it first. "How do we know this is what you say it is?"

"You will have to trust me." Syria grinned, but then gasped, bringing a hand up to her head. "What…"

"I hope you don't mind, darlin', but I think we'll check for ourselves." Caleb said casually, moving closer to the woman, who had now dropped to her knees by the bed, and was glaring at him. "My, my, the sorted things you just leave lying around," He taunted, as he roughly scavenged the witch's thoughts, filtering through information he didn't need to find what he was looking for.

The psychic glanced at Dean. "Better than naughty amateur video hour, Deuce. You'd be impressed." For some reason the woman's barricades were weaker than before, but there was one area she had reinforced. It didn't seem too important and Caleb ignored the fact that she was protecting it like a lioness with her cub, and instead sought out what he needed.

Caleb's intense training and powerful abilities gave him the know how to probe gently, take without being sensed, but Syria deserved no such consideration. After a few more moments, he looked away, leaving the woman to slump against the mattress, panting harshly as if she had been roughly held by her slender throat.

Reaves cut his gaze to the oldest Winchester. "I don't sense that she's lying-at least not about the potion."

Hughes yawned as if he was bored, used the blade to pick at his fingernails. "It's your call, John. But poor little Sammy isn't looking too good."

John looked at his eldest son, who seemed ready to launch himself at Hughes at any moment. He nodded. "Go ahead, Dean."

Dean hesitated, but then sat on the bed next to his brother. Sam was still hanging on to consciousness, staring at him now, but from the dazed look in his brown eyes, Dean wasn't sure how much he was actually comprehending. "Drink this, Sammy."

The younger boy complied allowing Dean to help him, wincing at the bitter-tasting brew. "I'm never… drinking tea again," Sam vowed, softly, and Dean grinned slightly as he squeezed his brother's arm reassuringly.

"Good thing you're not southern."

"Can we get on with this?" Kline spoke up finally from his voyeuristic spot in the far corner of the room, and everyone's gaze fell on him. "I'm tired of this cat and mouse game, Hughes. Either do the job I'm paying you for or let me get the hell away from this insanity. I have a business to run."

"Sorry your latest venture into attempted murder is such an inconvenience for you, Kline," John growled. "Hughes should have told you that violating the delicate laws of nature can be a tedious bitch."

"Mr. Kline has no time for your good and evil sermons, Winchester. He has a son to be reunited with. Besides it's akin to the bastard drunkard preaching to the choir, isn't it?" Duran looked at Sam. "After all, you have your boy back, now he should have his."

"The only difference being his son has crossed over." John snapped, his dark eyes latching onto Kline's once more. "I hope you realize that what you're calling back may not be what you lost. You've heard the old saying about looking into the abyss-trust me, it's true."

"I've talked to my boy," Kline reasoned. "He wants to come back to me-no matter the cost. His time came before it was suppose to. There are loop holes when that happens."

"Loop holes?" Caleb snorted. "I didn't know life and death was based on a contract."

"You just have never met the right broker," Duran offered. "I've shown Mr. Kline what's behind door number two-allowed him to converse with his child."

"Meaning you did a séance?" Reaves shot Hughes an incredulous look. "Who did you let channel Scott? Syria? Because I'm guessing she has the ability to be a host, and the power to keep some control."

"I am merely the vessel for young Scott-allowing him a short refuge within my body. I have not swayed his decision."

"Vessel?" Caleb shot her a look, and then his handsome face grew grim as the truth sank it. "My God, you didn't just do a séance, you did a binding ritual."

"What?" John and Dean looked at Caleb.

He pointed to Syria. "She's got the kid's spirit in there with her, locked away neatly in a little compartment of her own mind." Caleb pointed to the woman, who merely grinned. "She's binding him to this plane until they can do the transfer. I sensed it before when I read her. It's taking most of her energy to hold onto him."

"She can do that?" Dean looked to Reaves.

"Yeah, she can hold him for a short time-like a possession. I've seen Mac do it with a displaced spirit, until the body could be torched. Too long though and somebody has to go, or the host body will die."

"Enough of this," Kline demanded, but his voice shook with a small tremor of fear. "Just do it, Hughes. I'm tired of waiting. I want my son back. Use the damn knife."

"Do you even know how that works?" John asked, nodding to the blade.

"I do." Duran smiled, turning the knife over in his palm. "It works like a very powerful conduit, a spiritual lightning rod." He looked up at John. "I place it where I want the displaced spirit to go. I've already done the hard work guiding Scott back from the beyond, placing him in Syria's care. When she touches Echnon's blade, its power to restore the dead will do the rest."

"Meaning you forced the dead kid into Pandora's lock box, until you could find a bigger, more vacant cage?" Dean shook his head, glanced at Kline. "Trust me, dude, this is not going to get you any votes for father of the year."

"And what happens to the soul already in the body?" John demanded, his eyes going from Hughes to the businessman. "You might want to pay close attention to this yourself, Mr. Kline."

Duran sighed. "Yes, the spirit will be _evicted_ so to speak," He made quotes in the air, "but I will gladly guide them towards the light. Yada, yada, yada."

"Who says your boy's life is more important than the person Hughes is going to kill?"

Kline opened his mouth to answer John's question but Duran quickly interrupted. "This isn't murder. It's justice. Whomever I choose will be a fair exchange, I assure you."

Caleb and Dean shared a quick look, before the older hunter voiced what was on their collective minds. "You already have this unsuspecting victim lined up?"

Hughes looked at them, his eyes briefly flicking to Caleb before he grinned. "Actually, I do."

In that moment, it was easy for Caleb to realize that there was a reason that hindsight was touted as being damn near perfect. Because looking back it was easy to see the mistake they made.

Although Duran was showy and obnoxious, he was not merely a medium.

Even if he was underhanded enough to manipulate others into doing the job for him, he was still a very capable hunter. His cowardly tactics thus far had lulled them into believing he wasn't a direct physical threat. But they had been so very wrong.

He was dangerous on so many levels. He had led them into his snare like amateurs.

Caleb didn't even have time to register Duran's intentions before the knife left his hand, before it was hurdling through the air towards them.

The psychic didn't have the chance to move, let alone shout a warning, before the blade was buried hilt-deep in Dean's stomach.

Dean staggered backwards against the bed, a forceful rush of air leaving his lungs, his hands going to the blade protruding from him. His wide, shocked gaze lifted from the surreal image to briefly meet Caleb's horror filled eyes and then he stumbled forward.

Sam screamed his brother's name, the roughness of it mixing with the sharp resounding bark of Caleb's cry of "No!"

"You son of a bitch!" John yelled, leveling his 9mm at the other hunter's head, the barrel of it pressed close to Duran's temple. "What the hell did you do?"

Caleb reached out and caught the younger man as he fell, taking both of them to their knees. "Oh God!" Dean gasped, as his legs met the floor and his whole body was jarred. He practically collapsed against Caleb, with a muffled cry.

"Deuce?" Caleb heard himself say, even as his mind tried to register another threat.

From the corner of his eye, he could make out Sam crawling his way towards them, pulling himself to the side of the bed where his brother had fallen but Syria was on him like a pouncing cat.

The witch dug her claws into Sam's shoulders, jerked him to a stop. In his weakened state, he was unable to resist the momentum, falling back against the mattress where she made easy work of straddling him.

Sam put up a fight, but suddenly found himself faced with Dean's knife, now held precariously to the soft under-side of his throat. "Turn about is fair play, Sammy," Syria purred. "You've been a naughty boy."

"Sam," Dean struggled to stand, but Caleb tightened his hold. The boy looked up at him, pain and fear bringing tears to his green eyes, like jade shimmering under water. "Help… him."

"Don't move," Caleb said forcefully, keeping Dean in place, glancing to Sam.

"Don't even try it," Syria hissed, and Caleb held back on the mental assault he had planned, as a thin line of blood blossomed from where the steel blade was pressed against the teen's throat. "You might cause me to accidentally cut his head off."

"I should kill you now!" John was shouting and Caleb found himself slowing fading out as emotions exploded around him like deadly mortar. Sam's fear, John's anger, Dean's pain, Kline's shock, and Duran's sick arousal. It was dizzying, and was only intensified by Caleb's own foreign feeling of helplessness.

"Caleb?" Dean's soft voice, his fingers wrapped in the hunter's shirt sleeve. "Don't…zone out on me man," He whispered, through clenched teeth and the older hunter blinked, grounding himself as best he could.

"Don't be ridiculous," Duran was saying in that infuriating calm tone of his, as if John was reacting to a simple misunderstanding instead of the fact that Hughes had just used his son as target practice, had every intention of taking his life. "Why kill one son to save another?"

"You shoot me and Syria will kill Sam." Hughes looked to where Dean was slumped in the floor, his back now resting against the bed, where Caleb had propped him so he could assess the damage. "Dean wouldn't want that."

"Dean?" Sam managed to speak, despite the threat sitting atop him.

"I'm…okay, Sammy," His older brother ground out, and Caleb rolled his eyes at the kid's stubbornness. "Let me see," Reaves breathed as he eased Dean's hands away and moved the younger hunter's over-shirt back to get a look at the wound.

"Don't move," Caleb ordered again, as his sensitive fingers skimmed around the blade, amazed, yet thankful, at the small amount of blood that poured from around the sharp edges that had pierced Dean's skin.

"Caleb?" John's sharp voice had him looking up, meeting his friend's questioning gaze.

"I don't know," The younger hunter replied, glancing back at Dean, who had his eyes shut, jaw clenched tightly against the pain. His breath was whistling slightly as it rushed through his teeth in harsh pants, and a sheen of sweat already glistened on his face. "He's not losing a lot of blood."

"Of course not," Duran said casually. "Echnon's blade has healing properties-hence the ability to restore life. It wasn't designed to kill, but I imagine that it still hurts like a bitch."

Caleb ignored Duran, reaching up and clasping a large hand around the back of Dean's neck. "Hey? You still with us, kid?"

"Yeah," Dean blinked, stared at him with glassy eyes. "But…you don't happen to have any more of that morphine handy, do you?"

"Suck it up, Dean," Hughes commanded. "You're a Winchester, for crying out loud. You have a reputation to protect."

"Shut-up!" John shoved the gun against Duran's temple. "Don't you even speak to my boy."

"Does that mean you don't want me to guide him to the other side?"

John's finger tightened on the trigger but the sound of Dean's hurt-filled voice stopped him. "Dad…don't…Sammy."

"That's right, John…Sammy." Duran nodded his head towards Syria. "Which is it going to be? You can't have your cake and eat it, too."

"What I'm going to have is your head on a platter, Duran," John growled, menacingly.

"Don't hurt, Sam," Dean said again, panting hard against the pain. He looked from Caleb to his father and then back to Caleb. "It's my choice. I wear a ring, Sammy doesn't."

"No...Dean," Sam gasped out.

Dean continued to stare at Caleb. "You know the rules."

Caleb swallowed thickly, nodded, before flicking his gaze to John. "Ease up, Johnny."

Dark eyes locked on Reaves, and he nearly flinched at the swirling of emotion, praying that his own quickly erected defenses could continue to hold all the intense feelings at bay. There was a damn good reason he chose to hunt alone. "I'm not going to let him murder Dean, " He hissed.

Caleb took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I know." The psychic glanced back at Dean then met John's gaze once more. "You're going to save Sammy."

Dean shook his head slightly , let if fall back against the bed. "Semantics...you gotta love it."

_A/N: Okay, this chapter seemed to go on forever. But we are so close to the end now. I have so appreciated your reviews on this story, and your kind patience with this lateness in posting. As always, I love to hear what you think, and even when I don't get back personally, it often effects what I choose to write, and I always consider the questions and insights so very useful. Thanks again, Ridley. _

_PS. I don't want to Jinx it, but hopefully Chapter 11 will be up perhaps Sunday or at the latest Monday. Was that the same as saying it would, because that would definitely be a jinx, and I don't want to do that. _


	11. Chapter 11

The Line

Chapter 11

_**A/N: Okay guys, I thought I'd finish with this chapter, but it was getting so long, and I spent the entire day playing 'Cool Aunt' to four girls ages 2-9. So, honestly, I was too freakin' tired to finish it up, and I didn't want to rush. In this chapter I have tried to answer some of the questions and concerns that I have received in reviews. For Amy...I hope this explains the Brotherhood concept. I suppose it is AU, but I do not think it is enough change in the boys' lives to change Dean's personality. In contrast, I actually fashioned Caleb and Jim to explain some of the ways Dean reacts to things, that are so different from John and Sam. Hope this clarifies. And of Brighette, who had an absolutely creative way to fix Dean, which I had not planned on using, but instead had Dean joke about it because I just liked it so much. See... I do read the reviews, and ponder them. And even though I don't respond individually most times, they mean SO much! So, here's the chappy as a thanks and I'm working on something else for another thank you, when this baby is finished. Now, go read. -Ridley And as always tell me what you think. **_

John could feel sweat as it slid down the back of his neck and slipped beneath the collar of his jacket. He had known that one day things would come to this. But in all the dangerous situations that he had placed his children, he never quite imagined that one of his son's demise would come like this.

The Brotherhood was sacred, after all. It had provided them a sort of shelter for over fifteen years now, even when they hadn't had a permanent, tangible roof over their heads. And even if John didn't physically _wear_ the ring, he kept it with him at all times-honored it for what it was.

Fifteen years ago Missouri Mosley had introduced him to Jim Murphy. The kind priest taught him things about the world that John only imagined existed in Stephen King books and science fiction movies. Jim had taken John under his wing and believed him about Mary, when even his closest friends had thought him insane. And his boys…they had taken an instant liking to the man, even Dean, who after watching his mother die, didn't take to anyone.

Pastor Jim had told John that there were others like him who had been touched by the evil side of the Supernatural-- for Centuries brave men and women had hunted creatures that would bring harm to the innocents of the world. They had existed in primitive times, stood watch over religious figures throughout time, and protected special artifacts that if fallen in the wrong hands could bring chaos to the world.

The Brotherhood

Its actual beginning was unknown, but there were rumors that it could be traced to the Knights of the Round Table. Jim liked to wager that they were, in fact, the original Brotherhood. Mac would tease the man that he only liked that story because that would make him, Jim, Merlin.

Through out the years, the Brotherhood had become scattered, working more as independent agents for good, than as a cohesive group. It not only kept their identities and purpose secret from a world that was not ready to understand, but also from their enemies that would stop at nothing to destroy them if given half the chance. John liked the anonymity and the ability to run his own show. He had met others like him over the years, but had trusted few.

Apparently, the rings came to fruition as a way of acknowledgement when the band scattered. They were forged from a special ore, passed down through the ranks, and if worn, offered not only allegiance but protection.

Jim never spoke of how he came to possess the metal to make the rings or the responsibility to see that they were given only to those with the talent and heart for the job. Mac had told John once that every generation had a keeper of the rings. It was not only a great honor, but a heavy burden.

John Winchester had always trusted Jim Murphy's judgment, accepted his authority without question, until that very moment. Until Duran Hughes had tossed everything The Brotherhood stood for into the wind, and tried to murder not only one of his sons, but both.

John had met other hunters before, some in the Brotherhood, some not. Mostly honorable men in the job to do the right thing-to protect people, others not so much. John figured he fell somewhere in the middle. He wanted to help others, but he mostly wanted to avenge Mary. In the beginning, he had accepted Murphy's invitation mostly out of desperation, recognizing the group as a means to an end. But Dean? _God. _Dean represented everything a Hunter should be-was supposed to be. And Duran had pissed on that.

Over the years of hunting, John had never gotten close to many of his brethren. Bobby, Daniel Elkins, Joshua, and a few others had earned his friendship, garnered his respect and trust. And a few had slipped past his defenses to become more like extended family. Jim was like a father to him, Mac like a bossy, self-important older brother, and Caleb like the bastard son that he hadn't planned or sure as hell wanted. But often times, John had been wary of forging alliances with other hunters, not able or willing to subject himself or his boys to the risk of depending on others. As a military man he understood the importance of team work, but he wanted his boys to be self-reliant. Because John also understood that putting faith in the wrong man, letting them watch your back, could cost you your life. And now, his poor judgment was going to cost him one of his boy's lives.

Caleb watched John for any sign that he was going to lower the gun or blow Duran away. He risked a quick scan, wary of John's feelings towards such invasion. A wealth of emotion flowed through him and he swallowed back the bile that sprung to his throat at the depth of agony and fury racing through his friend's mind. The older hunter's face was frozen in a mask of anger, and his dark eyes were vacant as if he were a million miles away, lost in thought, where reality couldn't reach him.

Caleb cleared his throat, spoke forcefully. "John."

Recognition quickly returned, and Winchester stepped back from Hughes, lowered the gun slightly, but didn't relinquish the offensive stance completely. "You know what you've done, Duran?" When he spoke, his voice was as calm and cold as Caleb had ever heard it.

"I've just made myself an instant millionaire, five times over," Hughes quipped, glancing towards Kline, who looked like he might lose the contents of his stomach at any moment.

"You've broken the code. There's no where you'll be safe now."

The man rolled his eyes. "Get off your white horse, Winchester. The only reason I have ever been in the Brotherhood is because my idiot father believed in Murphy's insane crusade to recruit warriors for the fight against evil. He wore a ring, so he pleaded with Jim to include me also. Given my abilities and lineage, the old man didn't have much choice." Duran shook his head in disgust. "I only agreed to wear a ring because of the contacts it gave me-the nice, shiny armor it wrapped me in. But now money will offer me that same buffer."

"You knew you could do what you wanted and get away with it as long as you had others to watch your back, to look out for you."

Duran smirked at Caleb. "And let's not forget how they offered me up such interesting and incredible distractions." Hughes raised his right hand, the silver from the ring flashing in the light. "People trusted me, followed my orders, because of this." His grin grew. "But you know all about that, don't you, Caleb?"

"It won't get you out of this room alive. Not if you kill my son." John said, diverting the man's attention from Reaves.

"I'm not technically killing Dean," Hughes replied, "only borrowing his body."

"Does that mean…I get it back?" Dean asked, sarcastically, bringing everyone's gaze back to him.

"I'm afraid not." Hughes replied, with fake sorrow. "I was never good at returning library books either, I'm afraid."

"Don't…let him do this, Dad." Sam spoke, his voice still shaky, but bolstered by the adrenaline coursing through him.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean bit out, and Caleb winced as the kid's hand tightened around his wrist in a crushing grip.

"_You_ shut up," he told the younger boy, giving him a hard look. "Save your strength."

Dean rolled his eyes. "For what? So, Scotty can recuperate nicely from this bitch of a puncture wound." The short tirade left the injured hunter breathless, but some of the shocked fog had cleared from his green eyes, now replaced with fiery indignation. "I'd rather not help him out…if you don't mind."

Caleb ran his free hand through his dark hair. "Damn it, Deuce, just listen to me."

"Yes, Deuce, listen to him." Duran mocked, and Caleb didn't like the insane smile that spread across the man's face. "He's going to take good care of you."

"Don't talk to him," Caleb growled, shifting so most of Dean's body was blocked from the other man's blue gaze.

"There are a few things that we need to do before the transfer takes place, but they don't require talking."

"What things?" John asked, his mind still reeling with a way to get both his children out of the maniac situation. The longer he stalled the better, even if he had to endure Duran's taunting games.

"I want the protection amulet removed."

"No!" Sam gasped, only to have Syria shush him, by applying more pressure to the knife she held against his already bleeding throat.

"Why?" John demanded, not missing the slight look of panic that crossed Dean's features. "It's just a pendant."

Duran clucked. "Now, John, we both know that thing has power. Elkins wouldn't have had it in the first place if it didn't."

"Elkins?" Dean asked, his face registering every bit of the pain he was feeling as well as his confusion about what his pendant had to do with the reclusive hunter.

Caleb looked away as Hughes continued. "Yes, didn't you know that's where your brother got it?"

Dean tried to glance at Sam, needing to have some kind of contact with his little brother, even if he was afraid of what he'd see. "I found it for Sam," Caleb clarified, glaring at Duran.

"So you did." Duran nodded, "I've done my homework and so did you. I'm not leaving anything up to chance."

Hughes stared at him. "Now give me the damn necklace, before I come get it myself."

Caleb hated the feeling-the control that Duran had over him at that moment-over all of them. It made him feel like a scared kid again. He'd been so young, and unskilled telepathically-barely Sam's age, when Hughes had first manipulated his weaknesses, used his authority against him. And now the bastard was exploiting yet another weakness-Caleb's feelings for Dean and Sam.

"Do it now, Caleb!"

The younger hunter wanted to tell him exactly where he could stick his orders. He didn't take them from anyone anymore, maybe John-and that was only on a need to basis. But the idea of Duran doing it himself-of him touching Dean-kept his mouth shut.

"Fuck him," Dean said, harshly, trying to reach up and get the necklace from around his neck himself.

Caleb knew what the charm meant to the other hunter. Sam had given it to Dean for a birthday present, and he never took it off. Caleb _had_ gotten it from Elkins for Sam which was pretty damn ironic now, but it was still a representation of everything the two Winchester brothers meant to each other-their dedication to protecting one another. It was a part of Dean, just like Sam was a part of him.

"I'll do it," Caleb finally said, emotion bleeding into his voice slightly when Dean winced with the strained movement. The kid was unable to lift his arms up high enough without causing more agony, so Caleb reached up and carefully slipped the necklace from over Dean's head. Their eyes met for a brief moment, the intimate act making both of them uncomfortable.

When it was finished, Caleb turned and glared at Hughes, picking up on his thoughts, his tasteless attempt to sully a bond he could never begin to comprehend. He slipped the charm in his pocket, not about to let it fall into Duran's hands. "Satisfied, you son of a bitch?" The hate wasn't missed in the tone, but Hughes seemed to enjoy it.

"Not completely." He held Caleb's gaze, "now the ring."

"No." Caleb rebelled, shook his head vehemently. "No. Fucking. Way." Caleb backed up from Dean, staying only as close as necessary for Dean to maintain his grip. "Only Jim can do that."

Hughes laughed. "For all your bravado, young Caleb, you are still foolishly naïve. Jim Murphy has no special abilities. I assure you, if you remove that ring, you won't be struck by lightening."

"And you won't absolve yourself by removing that ring either, Hughes." John spoke up. "Dean is still protected. The silver is just a symbol. What you're doing is still blasphemy."

"Are you actually insinuating that what we do is God's work?" Duran laughed out loud. "Oh, you are a riot, Winchester. _Vengeance is mine_, sayeth the Lord. Does that ring a bell?"

When John didn't answer, merely clenched his jaw, Duran snorted. "I don't care about the symbolic nature of that piece of jewelry, Winchester." He glared at the other hunter and then looked back to Caleb. "Nor do I consider any of you my brothers. But I know of that ore's uniqueness. I feel the energy that it contains-the protection it offers. And I don't want to leave any unknown variables in this transfer-can't afford to be sloppy. Its magic is old as the fires that rage at the center of Earth. Even I'm not brash enough to discount that."

"I won't do it." Caleb continued to hold his ground. He knew that Duran wasn't just ensuring a successful transaction. The man was enjoying the pillaging, stripping Dean of things that were a part of him. It was a form of psychological rape, and Caleb was going to kill him for it.

"You don't have a choice," Duran seemed to lose his temper suddenly, although John's gun covering him kept him in place. "That's the whole point of a hostage situation, is it not? Placing a threat on someone or something valuable, didn't you learn that lesson years ago? Have you and I not been in this situation before? **I** have the control."

"Shut up!" Caleb felt his pulse race even higher, his heart slam against his chest.

Duran's smile returned. "Give me the ring, Dean!" He looked at Syria, who pressed the knife harder against Sam's throat, eliciting a reflexive gasp.

Dean didn't even hesitate as he struggled to slide the silver circle from his finger. "Don't." Caleb said, knowing that the younger man had no choice, but struggling with his own fears. Dean wasn't the only one who was trying to protect a brother.

The older hunter watched him do it, winced as the younger boy achieved his goal. "Here…take it! Just…call off your psycho bitch."

Hughes looked at the offering, his eyes raking over Dean's pale, sweating face, his trembling hand holding out the ring to him for the taking. He smiled. "Give it to Caleb."

Dean sought out his friend's eyes, confusion mixing with the pain and anger. It was obvious to him that there was more going on, even in his shocked and hurt state- but not understanding completely the sick game that Hughes was insisting on playing.

"I'm sorry," Caleb breathed, even though Duran had pointed out his lack of control to everyone. He hated that he had failed to protect him and Sam, and now was even unable to stop Duran from using them.

The younger man frowned. "It's…not important…doesn't change anything."

Caleb wondered for a second if he was that transparent, or if Sam wasn't the only Winchester that had latent mind-reading abilities. The ring fell into his hand and he felt the loss, as if Dean were already dead, as his fingers closed around it.

"Now _you_ give it to me," Hughes snapped, mindless of John's finger tightening on the trigger.

John knew that Duran understood exactly what was he doing.

Caleb didn't have a blood bond to anything or anyone still breathing-anything but perhaps to a damn demon that could destroy them all. Biologically, he wasn't a son, or brother, or uncle. But he did have the rings. The rings were his connection to everyone that mattered. Duran wanted Kline's money, he wanted to hurt John for some fucked up reason, but he was hell bent on destroying Caleb. And just as John was helpless to save Dean, he couldn't do one damn thing to protect Caleb either.

Sam hissed again and Caleb and Dean looked up. The kid had his eyes closed, obviously still strung out from the after effects of the poison, his breath quick and forced.

"Please." Dean's voice erased whatever hesitation Caleb had. He stood, felt cold when Dean's sweat-slicked grip slipped from his skin. He walked to Duran and held out the ring. "You're only sealing your own coffin," Reaves told him calmly, as Hughes let his fingers fold around the silver in a caressing way before dropping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Don't worry. I'll give it back after this is all over," Duran taunted. "Maybe Jim can give it to Sam when he comes of age."

"Or maybe he'll give him yours." Caleb said coldly.

"Can we do this now?" Kline demanded.

Caleb swung his gaze to the man. "You don't care that you're taking someone's life. Someone else's son. Someone's brother!" He shouted.

"Scott is my priority." The man defended, doggedly, dabbing at his sweaty brow.

"Meaning you don't give a damn." Caleb strode forward, long legs bringing him to tower over Kline in two steps. The man cringed as if he were afraid Caleb was going to strike him, but the hunter grabbed his arm instead. He roughly dragged him across the room to where Dean was.

Caleb reached down, let his hand rest atop Dean's head, opening up a direct link to everything the kid was feeling.

Kline fell to his knees with a gasp as he was overwhelmed with fear and pain and Dean's memories. "_This _is what you're doing-what you're stealing. _This _is who you're killing."

"Let him go, Caleb," Duran warned. "I won't have you wrecking my money train."

The psychic roughly released the man, shoving him away from Dean, before Syria could retaliate by hurting Sam.

Kline fell back, his ass hitting the carpet. He glanced from Caleb to Dean, remorse or guilt welling his eyes. "I didn't know."

"You. Didn't. Care." Caleb snarled.

"I just want my son back." The old man sobbed into his hands. "I just want the pain to stop."

"And we're going to make it stop," Duran assured him, turning his gaze to Caleb once more. "Just one more thing stands in our way."

"I'm so not stripping…in front of your…perverted ass," Dean told Hughes, looking up at him through hooded eyes. "So just get it over with."

"I want the bracelets."

"What?" Caleb looked from Duran to Dean and back. "They're nothing."

Then Dean won't mind handing them over.

Caleb looked at the twenty-year-old. He didn't know the story behind the black, band bracelets. Just knew that Dean wore two, Sam wore one. They had for years. He imagined it was just many of the things the two shared in their own private world.

"Deuce?"

"Just take them," He relented, some of the fight gone from his voice.

Caleb's hatred for Kline renewed as he watched Dean's eyes fill, seen him bite his lip to keep the emotions at bay. The older hunter knelt in the floor once more and Dean slipped the bracelets from his arm, balling them up in a clenched fist before giving them to Caleb.

"Burn them when I'm gone," He told Reaves. "And make sure you kill that bastard while you're at it."

"No problem." Caleb slipped them in his pocket.

"Now come over here," Duran ordered.

Caleb stayed where he was, the idea of moving, of giving up his post unthinkable, even if he wasn't able to prevent anything that had happened so far.

"Don't do this," He heard John say, and it sounded so much like begging and so foreign coming out of the older hunter's lips that he closed his eyes-felt Dean flinch.

"I didn't want it to turn out this way," Hughes said, condescension ringing in his tone. "I wanted it to be Caleb."

Reaves whirled to look at him. "I'll do it." There was no question in his mind.

"No," Dean objected. He weakly shook his head. "Not…happening, Damien."

"I'm afraid Dean's correct, my friend. Due to your mongrel status, the transfer won't take place. Echnon made a provision for that. Seems even then they had a problem with our demonic counterparts." Duran shook his head. "Even if it's a faint link, you're blood is tainted. And then there's the whole psychic thing." The medium added. "Psychics have natural abilities to put up barriers. I must say it narrowed my choices."

"Glad…to know I wasn't first string."

"Oh don't think I'm disappointed Dean. You're an amazing specimen. Scott is moving up in the world. With your looks and his money, he should live an amazing life."

"I'm happy for him," Dean hissed, as he tried to shift, to sit up straighter against the bed.

"Dean?" Sam said his name again, the tone of it voicing a hundred questions and sentiments that the teen couldn't verbally express.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Caleb reached out to help, his hand brushing against Dean's. He looked down, caught site of the blood stained bandage wrapped around the other hunter's palm, and his pulse quickened.

Hughes was talking to Syria now, telling her to get Sam up.

"Heck of a mess you and Sammy made out of Mac's good china," Caleb said softly, his thoughts whirling quickly, even as his hands moved sluggishly in picking up a discarded shard from the floor.

Dean frowned, licked his lips. "I…know you suck at conversation, man, but…is this really the last thing you want to say to me?"

"I could tell you what a royal pain in the ass you've been for the last fifteen years."

Caleb could hear John behind them trying to reason with the medium, but he focused all his attention on Dean. He picked up the kid's hand, squeezed it, and almost laughed when Dean shot him a worried look at the touchy-feely move. "Or we could talk about all those times you cheated me at cards."

The kid frowned as Caleb deftly unwrapped his palm. He licked his lips, sensing what the other man was doing. "Dude, you suck at trusting people, too."

"Oh, I trust you Deuce." Caleb winced as he pressed against Dean's wound enough to open it up again. He waited for fresh blood to well in the gash, before releasing his hold. He looked at the boy, lowered his voice. "The question is…do you trust me?"

Dean nodded. "Just don't think…this means we're freaky blood brothers or something."

"Of course not, Kemosabi." Caleb lowered his own hand so that it was hidden, blocked by his body. The psychic then slid the jagged chunk of glass across his own calloused palm, not even blinking as blood pooled.

"I won't say it again, Caleb!" Duran snapped, and Reaves glanced over his shoulder, discreetly dropping the porcelain fragment to the floor.

Syria was now standing by the bed, and Sam had made it to his knees. The witch still held the tip of Dean's blade to the boy's jugular.

"I'm coming," He growled , turning back to the younger hunter, holding his left hand up between he and Dean. "Just saying my good-byes."

Dean weakly reached up and clasped it. "Take care of Sammy," He said, knowing that nothing was guaranteed. "And Dad."

Caleb nodded, tightened his hold on the other hunter's hand.

A decent imitation of Dean's shit-eating grin tugged at his lips. "And no matter what happens…don't even think about trapping my soul… in that scary-assed head of yours. There are places worse than hell."

Caleb smirked, well aware that Duran was watching them, probably enjoying the moment. "At least you'll fit in down there now," He nodded to their clasped hands, then reluctantly let go, "brother."

Chapter 12- Coming Soon.

A/N: One more chapter and an Epilogue to go. Big shout out to Tidia who helped with some of the ideas in this one. And to Will, who did a quick Beta for me. All left over mistakes are mine.


	12. Chapter 12

The Line

Chapter 12

A/N: First a big thank you to Tidia for doing a quick look at this and helping with those last few lines. It always amazes me how she can pull just what I need out of thin air. She, as usual, helped me over a stump, and made this a better piece. All mistakes are mine, and I appologize profusely for any I missed. I do use spell check and read out loud and reread and rewrite, I swear. But sometimes things slip under the radar. And a huge THANKYOU to all the people who have reviewed. It truly is a reward to read comments and hear ideas. I have gotten so many plot bunnies from reviews. And huge confidence builders...if I could bottle that feeling...man, I'd have a booming private practice. Anyway, on with this monster...this part was so hard to pull together, I hope it worked out in the end.-Ridley

"_I won't say it again, Caleb!" Duran snapped, and Reaves glanced over his shoulder, discreetly dropping the porcelain fragment to the floor. _

_Syria was now standing by the bed, and Sam had made it to his knees. The witch still held the tip of Dean's blade to the boy's jugular. _

"_I'm coming," He snapped, turning back to the younger hunter, holding his left hand up between he and Dean. "Just saying my good-byes." _

_Dean weakly reached up and clasped it. "Take care of Sammy," He said, knowing that nothing was guaranteed. "And Dad." _

_Caleb nodded, tightened his hold on the other hunter's hand. _

_A decent imitation of Dean's usual shit-eating grin tugged at his lips. "And no matter what happens…don't even think about trapping my soul… in that scary-assed head of yours. There are places worse than hell."_

_Caleb smirked, well aware that Duran was watching them, probably enjoying the moment. "At least you'll fit in down there now," He nodded to their clasped hands, then reluctantly let go, "brother." _

_**snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnss**_

"Give me the gun, John." Hughes cut his eyes to Syria and Sam. "Nice and easy like, so my pet isn't startled."

Winchester reluctantly handed the gun over. Duran took it, stepped back and waved it towards the other hunter, motioning for him to back up against the wall. "Now you, Caleb. Front and center, where I can see you."

Reaves held Dean's gaze for a moment. "It'll be okay," he said softly, and waited for Dean to acknowledge he was alright, before he pushed himself to standing.

"You really shouldn't make promises that you have no way of keeping," the medium mocked. "Next thing you know, you'll be telling him Santa really exists."

The dark haired hunter merely glared at Reaves, stoically taking his place at John's side. "Now, Syria, you can bring young Sam over to join his family. I'm sure he'll want a ringside seat for this."

Syria smiled, backing away, allowing Sam room to leave the bed. The teen was unsteady on his feet, barely managing to right himself against the mattress. He kept his arms folded tight across his abdomen, which still ached with each movement. His dark gaze was locked on his brother. The kid wavered like a sapling in the wind before he quickly sat back onto the bed, one hand coming up to his pounding head.

Duran sighed, impatiently, stuck the gun in Caleb's face. "Help him."

Reaves stepped over to the bed in three long strides, bent down to assist the teen.

"Do something," Sam whispered, tightly, when the older man leaned in close to pull the boy's arm over his shoulder.

"I'm trying," Caleb hissed back, taking most of the teen's weight, as he walked him over to his father.

Once there Reaves steadied Sam, keeping a hand at his elbow. The youngest Winchester was shaking like a leaf. The psychic was afraid if he let him go he'd be joining Dean on the floor.

Syria was free from her charge now. The men watched helplessly as she sauntered towards Dean.

"Now we shall get to the main show, enough of the opening act." Duran held tightly to the gun, unsure if he'd have to shoot one of the hunters in order for the exchange to take place. "And in case you're wondering who I'll kill first…let's say that I'll start with the youngest and go from there." He met John's eyes. "And my aim is true, having been taught by the best our covenant has to offer."

Dean kept his eyes on the brunette approaching him. He licked his dry lips as she dropped to her knees in front of him and crawled the rest of the way to his side. The blond hunter rolled his eyes at the woman's showboating. Syria swung one leg over him like a saddle, pulling her skirt higher as she straddled his legs.

"Funny how the fantasy is always better than the real thing," Dean quipped as the woman's hands ran up his arms, her fingers tracing along his jaw as she ran one hand through his hair.

"You don't like me anymore, Dean?" Her breath was hot against his ear as she leaned closer, lips caressing his cheek.

"I don't like broccoli or the Yankees." The twenty-year-old breathed. "_You_…rate right up their with oozing, puss-filled sores and fire demons."

Her laugh caused a chill to climb up his spine, like a spider. "You know why you little boys like your cheap fantasies so much?"

Syria's hands suddenly wrapped around the hilt of Echnon's blade. She tightened her long fingers and leaned against it so she cold place her lips to the boy's ear.

Dean cried out in pain. The rush of blood filled his ears, but did not block out Caleb and Sam's voices as they called out his name. "That's because real love is a bitch, my sweet." The witch whispered, closing her eyes, feeling the thrum of electricity course from the cool iron to her warm fingers. She waited for Echnon's magic to relieve her of her burden.

Caleb could feel Sam quake beneath his grip, his exhausted muscles responding to the adrenaline and fear for his brother. The dark haired hunter felt his own body shake and twitch with the overwhelming, all consuming need for action. A desire to do something, any damn thing to stop the bitch from hurting Dean any further.

But Duran had the gun aimed at Sam's head, and the psychic knew he couldn't chance a physical move or a telepathic one. Not yet.

He could only hope for once in his short life that the curse he'd been born with, would offer some kind of protection. Not for himself, because he wouldn't ask for such a thing, wouldn't admit what he was even to say his own life. Reaves wouldn't give the other side that satisfaction. Years of denial and disassociation had worked for him. But if it saved Dean…

"Nothing is happening!" Syria's voice held a hint of panic and it brought the medium's gaze to her.

"What?"

The woman grasped the knife tighter, thrust it deeper into Dean's gut, eliciting another cry of pain from the boy. "It isn't working!"

The blond hunter wasn't sure what Syria was shouting about. Every sound was a buzz now. A fiery agony had blossomed through his body, the heat of it consuming every inch of him like an inferno. He could feel the rush of blood through his veins and a pressure in his head, against his heart, as if something or someone was trying to force themselves through his skin, to penetrate his physical boundaries, to obliterate the fortress of his person.

He _hurt_. Like he'd never hurt before. And he couldn't help calling out for help. For someone to make it all stop. Pride was abandoned, bravado momentarily forsaken. Mercy was sought.

John Winchester howled in anger as his eldest called out for him, then for his brother. "Sonofabitch!"

"Stop it! Just stop it now!" Kline called from his spot curled against the wall. Caleb took his frustration out on the groveling coward, his inability to spare the younger hunter spurring a barely controlled viciousness. With one thought, the psychic had the man by the throat. Mentally, his finger's tightened on the thin, wrinkled neck until the old man's eye's widened marginally, bulged as his oxygen was cut off. A chocking sound escaped him and mixed with the strangled sound of Caleb's name. Sam's distraught voice calling for him again brought him completely out of Kline's mind. The old man slumped forward, unconscious before his head bounced against the wood floor.

The sixteen-year-old was staring at him, and for a minute Caleb was angry the boy had stopped him from finishing off Kline. But then his gaze went to Dean and he understood.

Syria's hands were no longer on the blade, but now grasped the barely conscious hunter's bleeding hand in hers. The witch's blazing eyes were on Reaves. "You! You did this!"

Duran glared at the psychic. "What's going on?" His gaze darted back to Syria, who was pale and sweating now. Obviously controlling Scott Kline's spirit was taking its toll. "Why didn't the transferal take place?"

"Because, you idiot," Syria hissed. "_He _marked him."

Again the medium's gaze swung from the witch to the dark haired hunter. "How?"

The witch jerked Dean's hand, eliciting another low moan from the kid. "This is how! His blood. He used his blood."

"No!" Hughes shook his head. "That's not possible. There wasn't enough time."

Caleb felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, feeling the pendulum start to swing. He held up his own red-smeared palm. "Demonic Passover…who knew?" He tilted his head towards the medium. "Wait. _You_ knew. After all, you gave me the idea."

"Ughhhh!" Sryia roared, reaching for Dean's knife that she had discarded to her side. "You arrogant bastard! You've ruined everything!" She screeched as her fingers tightened on the deadly weapon she had used to hold Sam hostage.

In one quick motion she detangled herself from Dean and was surging towards Caleb and the teen, the blade dangerously brandished in front of her.

"No!" Duran warned, knowing she would obscure his shot, take away the last leverage he had.

Caleb's smile grew as the woman played right into his hands. He shoved Sam behind him and grabbed the witch's wrist as the knife arched toward his chest. Reaves easily used her momentum and spun her around so that her back was pressed firmly against his muscular chest, his forearm locked across her graceful neck. The knife fell from the woman's hand as the psychic felt bones give way beneath his crushing grip.

John took complete advantage of the distraction, plowing into Duran, wrestling to liberate his gun from the medium. They fought, feet entangling, sending both against the bureau, then crashing to the floor in a jumble of limbs, and a cacophony of grunts and swears.

"You've been a naughty girl, Syria," Caleb hissed into the struggling woman's hair as she writhed and fought against his hold. His eyes went to where John was fighting with Hughes, betting on Winchester's skill to be victorious. "Now it's payback time."

Reaves closed his eyes, took a deep breath and entered the dark recesses of the woman's mind. He could feel her pain, her fear and resolution that death was at hand. For a moment an empathetic urge demanded he pull back, but then he caught the lingering scent of blood. _Dean's_ blood.

It was smeared on her hands, across her top, and the purely human emotion was drowned by the lust for vengeance. The hunter took another breath, felt her tremble in his grasp, remembered how she had enjoyed watching as Duran hurt him. And he knew for certain that she had felt the same rapture as she had hurt Dean. The first was forgivable, the latter was not.

Revenge would be so sweet, but then… poetic justice even sweeter.

With a quick breath he released her. A hard shove had her sprawling to the floor, sliding close to the opened patio doors, where a summer breeze lifted her dark hair from her slight shoulders. As Syria looked up at the hunter standing over her, confusion filled her haunting eyes and Caleb was reminded that beauty could be used to hide hideous things. Wasn't that what Duran had said of _him _so many years ago when he'd joked to Bobby that if he'd ever known demons were as vain as vampires and elves then he might have joined the mechanic on more hunts. Bobby had replied in kind with a vicious right cross, but perhaps, it was true.

"Caleb?" Sam's voice rang out behind him and Reaves motioned towards Dean, who was starting to come around.

"Help your brother," the hunter said quietly, his gaze never leaving Syria.

The witch made the mistake of looking at the teen and found herself in Caleb's mental grasp once more. "I'm going to take a peek into Pandora's box."

John felt the tide turning in his favor, despite the tenacity with which Duran battled. The younger man was fit and well-trained, like most hunters, but he wasn't a match for Winchester. Unfortunately, the medium had one thing in his advantage. Like Caleb had said, the man was king at playing fast and dirty. John had just managed to retrieve the gun, when Duran suddenly lunged away from him, his hand jutting forward with the speed of a striking snake.

The jolt of electricity seemingly came out of nowhere. The sizzling pain started in Winchester's chest, spreading out and racing along every nerve in his body. John barely caught sight of the small weapon pressed against his ribs before his body jolted and shook, his two-handed grasp of the 9mm giving way to his jerking reflexes before he slumped to the floor and the darkness surrounded him.

Sam had mostly crawled the distance between he and his brother, blocking out his father's fight and leaving Syria to Caleb as only one concern drove him. Getting to Dean.

Green eyes opened and stared up at him as he rested his trembling hand against the older boy's sweat-covered face. "Dean?"

"Sammy?" The blond hunter lifted his head from the edge of the bed he was still propped up against. "What's going…" His words were cut off as a loud zap filled the room, along with a sharp cry from their dad.

Sam's hand fell to his brother's shoulder, tightened there as he turned to seek out the new threat. His father was lying on the floor, shaking from a hand-held tazer hit. Duran was moving to retrieve the gun John had dropped.

"Sammy!" Dean's demanding voice brought his eyes back to his brother, who was struggling to his knees.

"Dean…no!" The teen said, forcefully, reaching out to stop the other boy as his brother's hands wrapped around the hilt of the knife still buried in his stomach. "Don't!"

But Dean had already assessed the threat, realized Caleb was otherwise occupied, and decided as usual that _he_ would be the hero. Before Sam could stop him, the twenty-year-old pulled Echnon's blade out with a guttural growl and was on his feet stumbling towards Duran.

Caleb easily found the hidden recesses where Scott Kline's spirit was tucked away, and without hesitation tore down all barricades that Syria had used to hold the dead man's life force. Without the buffer, Scott's presence exploded into the witch's mind, crippling her with the intensity of the invasion. Her dark eyes widened as she cried out, and then a flash of something foreign sparked in her gaze. Caleb knew the battle had begun. A battle Syria would lose, if the hint of fury he'd picked up from Kline's essence was any indication.

Reaves turned just as Sam shouted his brother's name. Duran was standing over an unconscious John, Winchester's 9mm in his hand. The psychic ignored Syria's screaming, reached for his own gun, tucked uselessly in the back of his jeans the entire time. A taunting voice in the back of his mind told him he'd never draw it quickly enough, but just as his fingers closed around it, the medium's body jerked.

Hughes went to his knees with a startled gasp, one hand leaving the gun reaching for the source of his agony.

Dean had thrown the knife from not three feet away, with more force than he had counted on. The blade had lodged high on Duran's back, almost squarely between his shoulder blades. As the spent, blond hunter sank to the floor, he felt his brother's presence behind him, and didn't resist when the younger boy wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

The medium jerked around to face them, his chiseled face contorted in anger and pain, his ice blue eyes alight with denial and disbelief. "YOU!" He howled.

"Don't…worry," Dean bit out. "It won't kill you…but it hurts like a bitch."

The medium's arm shook as he raised John's gun and pointed it at the young hunters. "Sorry, I can't say the same thing for the bullets." He ground out, between clenched teeth.

Dean braced himself, tried to shield Sam as much as he could in their completely open situation. The sharp retort of the gun tore through the room. He winced, expecting to feel the hot trail of fire rip into him, but the only sensation was Sam's hand fisting tighter in the back of his shirt, the teen's warm breath against his neck.

Caleb hadn't hesitated, hadn't even flinched. He'd aimed and fired, sending the bullet straight into the side of Duran's skull. The medium was dead before he fell to the floor.

"Shit!" Dean swore, staring at the lifeless Hughes, now spread-eagle on the floor near their father's prone form, a pool of blood quickly gathering around his head.

Another scream from Syria had them looking her way in time to see the witch stumble through the balcony door and take flight over the railing of the 10th story awning. "Holy fuck." The twenty-year-old raked a hand through his hair, his gaze finding Caleb, who was still holding the gun he'd used to kill Duran, seemingly undisturbed that Syria had just committed suicide.

"Dean?" Sam's shaky voice brought his attention back to his brother, who was now kneeling at his side.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean wrapped one arm around his stomach, which didn't hurt half as bad as it should have, and tried to stand up to go to their father.

"Stay there," Reaves ordered, finally snapping out of his trance. He stuffed the gun back in his jeans and moved to John's side, his fingers going to the older man's neck, as his gaze rested on Duran's empty stare. Caleb blinked, forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

The dark haired hunter swallowed hard when he registered the strong pulse beneath his sensitive digits, lifted his green eyes to the other boys. "He's alive-just unconscious."

Dean let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, felt more than heard his brother do the same. Caleb was in front of them now, tugging Dean's arm away so he could check the knife wound.

"Dude, back off. I'm okay," the blond hunter tried, but Reaves shook his head.

"Shut up, Deuce."

Dean would have protested harder, but the unfamiliar look in the older man's gaze and the completely foreign way the man's hands shook as he reached out to lift his shirt, kept him quiet.

"Is he all right?" Sam's soft, worry-filled voice had him sighing.

"Can't you hear, Captain Oblivious? I'm good."

Caleb looked up and met the teen's dark gaze. "He _is _ good." There was touch of wonder in the psychic's voice. "Duran wasn't lying about that blade."

Both boys looked down, amazed to find only a small, quickly fading red-line marring Dean's skin. Reaves let go of his torn, bloody shirt. "Although I think a change of clothes is called for."

"And a quick getaway," Dean added as sirens could be heard in the distance.

Caleb looked over his shoulder, towards the French doors. "Guess Scott's little acrobatic act drew a crowd."

"Scott?" Sam asked, and Reaves nodded.

"I don't think he appreciated being kidnapped and held for ransom."

"Just like Mac's not going to appreciate the media circus coming to town."

Caleb glanced around the room. Kline was still out cold in the corner. John was starting to come around, but Hughes…well Hughes was sort of all over the place. "

"Jesus!" He rubbed a hand over his face. Every fucking thing was a mess, but they were all alive...and relatively in one piece. The dark haired hunter looked at the Winchesters. Dean was quickly regaining his color and strength. Sam was holding his own. They were both safe. That was the important part. Anything else, Caleb could handle. He nodded at them. "I know how to deal with this." The words rang with false confidence.

Which Dean easily picked up on. He snorted, and rolled his eyes. "You know how to deal with a dead body, an unconscious millionaire, a witch that took a header off of Mac's balcony, and a pissed off, juiced up John Winchester?"

"Not to mention you wasted one of the Brotherhood," Sam pointed out and twin sets of green eyes bored into him. "Not that he didn't deserve it."

Reaves sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips, a hint of the lone dimple appaearing on his left cheek. "What can I say? It's a gift."

Dean chuckled, cast another glance around their destroyed, chaotic surroundings. "_This _I've got to see."

_Epilogue: Coming Very Soon...and I agree with Dean...this I have got to see. Bg._


	13. Epilogue

The Line

Epilogue

_A/N: Gosh, I can't believe this story is finally over, especially since I started it as a one-shot h/c piece. BG. Oh well, what was a girl to do while waiting for the new SN Season. I sincerely hope it has been enjoyable, and I want to thank all those who reviewed and kept me going. Thanks, guys! Another thanks to Tidia who betaed this and to Will who as she put it 'grammarized' it. All left over mistakes are mine. Unitl next time...Ridley_

"So you ended up with a distraught but repentant millionaire, two dead bodies, and a very angry building beautification committee?" Jim Murphy shook his head at the bedraggled men sitting at his kitchen table.

It was the wee hours of the morning and he had been more than surprised to find the motley crew pounding on his door, looking like death warmed over. "Yeah," John rubbed a hand over his beard, taking a drink of the strong coffee. "It wasn't the best of situations."

"What are you complaining about? You slept through the worst part." Reaves pointed out, trying to remove Scout's paws from his lap.

"Yeah, well, if I had been conscious I think I could have come up with a better cover story. One that didn't involve Mac's clientele."

The big black Lab finally shifted her attention to Sam, who had his arms full of Jim's latest family member. She nudged her black nose under the boy's arm as Harper Lee, a gregarious Beagle puppy, continued his full frontal assault on Sam's face, determined to lick the last crumbs of apple pie away. "At least the police seemed to buy the crazed patient story," the youngest Winchester told his father, as he dodged the persistant, pink tongue.

"Patient?" Jim asked, with an arched brow.

"Yeah," Caleb shifted uncomfortably. "I told the police that one of Mac's patients showed up demanding to see him, and that I let her in before I realized she was completely buckets of crazy."

The pastor scratched at his head. "I'm not sure your father would appreciate that medical term."

"I don't think he'll appreciate finding his home is a closed crime scene either," Dean snorted around a mouthful of pie.

"Shut up, Deuce."

"What about this business man? Kline?" Jim asked, expertly maneuvering around the typical sniping.

"He backed up my story." Reaves shrugged, remembering how he had 'convinced' the millionaire to help them.

"Old man money bags was more than happy to play along after he realized he was involved in a double homicide." Dean shoveled in another bite of his pie. "I guess stock prices wouldn't have been too stable if he was plastered on the front page of the _Times._"

"And what kind of story did you concoct to connect Mr. Kline to the likes of Madame Dellacrois?" Murphy asked, resting his chin on his hand, eyeing Caleb carefully.

The younger man shrugged. "Seems the poor old gal had been dating his recently deceased son, and was completely distraught over Scott's death. She'd called his old man on her way over to Mac's, said she was going to join her beloved. She was hysterical and he'd come to check on her." Caleb sighed. "She attacked him, and Dr. Ames' good friend, John, also."

Dean nodded, obviously liking that part. "Dad had to tell the cops that he got his ass kicked by a girl."

John rolled his eyes. "The story had more holes than a sieve. We're just lucky that money and power like Kline's can do a whole hell of a lot for your standing and credibility with the police."

Murphy frowned. "Even _that_ kind of power can't explain away a gun shot victim."

"No," Reaves sighed. "Duran…I had to dispose of until the cops left."

"Dispose of?"

"Yeah," Dean waved his fork at the psychic. "Mister Morbid here had a body bag under his bed." He faked a shudder. "Freak."

Murphy sent him a curious look and Caleb held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you're the one who said we should always be prepared, Jim."

"I'm not sure I had that in mind exactly." The pastor scratched his head. "And what did you do with the body after the coast was clear?"

"Well…that's the thing…" Caleb started, but Sam cut him off.

"They want to bury him next to Bunnicula."

"What?" Jim's blue eyes widened.

"My rabbit," The sixteen-year-old said around a jaw-popping yawn. It was obvious that despite sleeping the entire trip to the farm, the kid was winding down. "You know…in the garden."

"You want to lay Duran to rest _here, _at my home?" The priest ignored the boys, staring intently at John, as if he were certain it was Winchester's idea.

"There's a price to running the castle, Merlin."

"You do realize this is a safe place- but **not** hallowed ground. It wouldn't be right, I'm afraid. And I can't exactly have an unscheduled burial at the rectory, now can I?"

"What would you have me do, Jim?" John growled. "I couldn't leave him stuffed under the kid's bed. The building commission is already going to be pretty pissed at Mackland-stinking up the place would not help matters."

"Yes, what is this? The third place you've either destroyed or gotten him kicked out of?"

"Hey!" John held up a finger. "The beach house in Rockport was not my fault."

"Still…"

Winchester shook his head. "And I didn't know the protocol, all right." He spared a quick glance in Caleb's direction. "He was in the Brotherhood, damn it."

"I'm aware." The priest rubbed a finger over one silver brow. "But I just can't plant him here, like a beloved pet. There are rites and procedures, even for someone like Duran."

"There's the old Castor family burial ground up on Widow's Mountain." Sam suggested, hoisting Harper Lee on his shoulder, much to the delight of the pup, who found the teen's long hair an interesting new chew toy. "No one goes there anymore, but it's still holy ground."

The priest frowned. "No one except nosy boys who were told not to be near the place."

"Those sink holes are a bitch," Dean said, around a barely concealed grin.

"So was setting your arm with those old shin bones Sammy found," Reaves chimed in only to receive another glare from Murphy. "Hey, don't look at me. I wanted to toss Hughes' ass in the landfill."

"I think Samuel's idea is a sound one," Jim finally said, with a solemn frown. "A new plot shouldn't be noticed and it is protected land."

"We can take the four-wheelers up there tomorrow." John nodded. "As long as we stay off the horse trails we shouldn't meet anyone."

"Yes, because I'm afraid I don't know any multi-millionaires that are willing to vouch for me if you were discovered with a dead body." Jim huffed, sliding his fingers through his mass of silver hair, causing it to stick up wildly in several directions.

Sam caught his brother's eye and they both stifled a laugh. Their father shot them a familiar glare and both boys looked back down at their plates. "I think we should turn in then." Winchester nodded to Sam. "Especially you, kiddo."

"Yeah, it's past the little guy's bed time," Dean reached over and rubbed a hand over his brother's hair.

Sam shoved him away. "Dean was hurt worse than me."

"And your brother's turning in, too."

The twenty-year-old's face flushed, and Reaves laughed. "Don't cry Deuce," He consoled, smugly. "Jim will probably read you a bedtime story if you're good."

"Fu…"

"Dean Mathew Winchester!" Jim snapped, effectively cutting off the blond hunter's intended slur.

"Fu...nny. I was going to say funny!"

John pointed at Sam. "Take that pup out to do his business before you sneak him upstairs."

Scout whined, again nudging the teen with her head. "You can come too, girl," Sam assured scooting out from behind the table, starting for the screen door.

"Just keep the flea bags out of my bed." Dean called after his brother, only to receive a hand gesture that would have had Jim's ire up again if it hadn't been carefully hidden behind his back.

"His bed _is_ your bed," Caleb spoke up. "Because I sure the hell ain't sleeping with him and his furry girlfriends, and I'm not sharing with you."

"What happened to the couch?"

"You want to sleep on that lumpy thing, go ahead, Deuce. Knock yourself out."

"Then what about your _old_ room?" Dean asked. "The one with Leta Ford on black velvet and Poison posters?"

Reaves smirked. "Shut up."

"Actually I turned _that_ room into an art studio," The priest explained and both younger men looked at him. " I've taken up the brush again," he told them with a self-satisfied grin.

"Painting?" The twenty-year-old didn't catch his groan in time and Murphy gave him an affronted look.

"I'll have you know, young man, that I have improved vastly since my last encounter with the muse."

Dean grinned. "No disrespect. But you could be possessed by Michelangelo's muse, Pastor Jim, and you'd still stink."

"Remember when he did that mural?" Caleb leaned conspiratorially across the table, bobbed his eyebrows toward the ceiling. "The one with the naked cherubs?"

"Bobby thought it was some kind of satanic protection symbol," Dean laughed, garnering a sigh from his father, who roughly scooted his chair across the wooden floor.

The ex-marine stood, wondering why somehow coming to Jim's farm was like walking into a time warp. "Go to bed, boys."

"I thought that was a rather good replication of Gabriel's Angels," Murphy defended, which only made Reaves and his accomplice laugh harder.

"If Gabriel had a bunch of freakishly deformed pigs with feathers…then yeah."

"Oh, stop, man," the blond hunter shook his head at Caleb, gasping and holding his side. "I'm still not fully recovered."

Jim looked at John. " I really do think we failed somewhere along the line."

"Don't look at me," Winchester shrugged. "You were the one who said that _'spare the rod' _nonsense was rubbish. And then there was that _'boys will be boy's' _sermon you delivered more times than I care to remember."

"Perhaps I was wrong."

Now John laughed. "First time for everything. Wait 'til I tell Mac."

"Yes," Murphy raised a defined, white brow, "wait until you tell Mackland." Jim went on, "About everything."

Winchester's grin faltered. "I was kind of hoping you'd do that. I mean I have that job out in Senoa…"

"Go to bed, John." Jim stood also, waved the other hunter away, dismissing him like an annoying child asking for their tenth glass of water. "Scoot."

"And you two can clean up the dishes before retiring." The priest motioned towards the last two occupants at the table and then to the sink.

"But…" Dean started, only to have Murphy hold up a hand to stop him.

"No buts."

"I was at death's door only mere hours ago."

"Yet you seem completely fine to ridicule your elders and torment your younger brother. I'd say the prognosis is good."

"Great," Dean muttered.

"Now if you children will excuse me…"

"Jim?" Caleb spoke up, stopping the priest from leaving. "About Duran…"

Dean glanced across the table, noticing all hint of humor had left the dark haired hunter's face. His green eyes were once again serious, his jaw clenched, and the tense lines around his mouth had returned. "I thought you'd want this."

Reaves held out Duran's ring and waited for Murphy to take the silver band.

Winchester glanced down at his own ring. Caleb had retrieved it from Hughes' pocket before they'd put him in the body bag. He hadn't realized that Reaves had taken the medium's ring as well.

"Thank you," Jim said softly, sharing a sad, almost reverent look with the two of them. He sighed deeply, painfully. "Sometimes there is no choice but to step across that invisible line, I'm afraid."

The twenty-year-old glanced up at the priest, a sudden surge of anger coursing through him. He wasn't sure at whom it was directed but it was there just the same. "There is no line," he snapped, harsher than he had meant. When Jim tilted his head in confusion, Dean merely looked at Caleb who was watching him with hooded eyes, saw what Jim didn't-guilt.

"Perhaps not." The priest cleared his throat, seeming to catch on. He put the ring in his pocket, and patted Dean on the shoulder as he left them alone. "Goodnight, boys."

"You really believe that?" Reaves ran a finger around the lip of his coffee mug, met the younger hunter's gaze again. "About there being no line?"

Dean shrugged, leaned back in his seat. The psychic had been quiet on the long drive to Jim's, which wasn't entirely unusual, but it didn't take a mind reader to know what he was thinking about. "Someone I trusted told me that once, so yeah, I believe it."

The dark haired man rolled his eyes, grinned, despite himself. "Oh yeah? What else did this incredibly wise and handsome man tell you?"

"Well..." Winchester leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, "this _ugly_ bastard told me that there really wasn't anything such as good, bad, and evil. That there was only doing what needed to be done, and hoping like hell that it was coming from the right place."

"Really?"

The kid looked down, slightly red-faced when it was obvious Reaves was taken back by the fact the younger hunter could recite the six-year-old conversation of theirs almost verbatim. "Then the bitch rambled on like some pussy about all the things people do in the name of love. But in the end, despite the huge chick-flick sentiment, I got what he was trying to say."

"And that was?" Caleb raked a hand through his hair.

"That you do what you have to do to protect what's yours…and sometimes it's not pretty."

The older hunter was silent for a moment, then he licked his lips, shifted his tall frame in the chair. "I...I never killed a person, Deuce, you know? Ghosts-yeah, furries-no problem, but a living, breathing human..." Caleb looked away. "It's different."

"Don't think of it that way." Dean waited for Reaves to meet his gaze again. "You didn't murder Duran, you _saved _me and Sam." The blond forced a grin, knowing it was a stretch, but not having a clue as to what else he could do to make it right. "Semantics, you know." He shrugged. "Besides even you demonic types are powerless when it comes to that great, beautiful, terrible cosmic shit."

Reaves shook his head, palmed his tired eyes. Laughed. It was a whole hell of a lot better than the alternative. He gave the kid a hard look. "And you're _sure_ this guy was ugly?"

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded. "Lyle Lovett kind of ugly."

Caleb held up his bandaged hand, waggled it at Dean, dimple and white teeth flashing. "Terrible thing to say about your own flesh and blood, brother."

Dean groaned. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Hey, looks run in the family."

The blond stood, taking his cup to the sink. "Laugh it up, Dude. But nothing will be very funny tomorrow."

"Really?" Caleb stood, stretched his aching back, and dumped his own coffee. "Why's that, Junior?"

Winchester punched him hard in the side as he walked by. "Because, Mac is so going to kick your ass when he gets back."

_September 2006 _

_Reviews are always welcome, and so appreciated. _

_A/N: For all of those interested, there is a new SN list just for fanfiction on Yahoo Groups. Just go to yahoogroups and then to SNFanfiction to sign up. I hear it's great. _

_And since I hate endings, another little sneak peak…._

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**In The Company of Dragons**

"Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a young prince named Samuel." Jim pulled the patchwork quilt higher up on the little boy's shoulder and smiled. "As you know, Samuel was a very special boy with many amazing gifts. He lived in a very magical world, surrounded by amazing friends that protected him."

"The dragons," Sam sighed, his dark eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

"The dragons." Murphy nodded, running two fingers over his white mustache. "These fiersome creatures protected young Sam from a very great Evil."

"The fire monster," the eight-year-old added, with an exaggerated shudder. "I really hate him."

"Me too," Jim agreed, and then continued in his story voice. "Unfortunately, the dragons were _so_ unusual and Sam was _so _special that he drew the attention of a very powerful King." The priest cast a quick glance to the bed's other two occupants.

Dean was watching him intently, and Scout was busy rooting her way into a comfortable spot between the boys. " The King decided that he must have the boy for himself, that perhaps the dragons were not the ones to raise young Samuel. He wanted Sam to live with him in his castle far away."

"But Samuel likes living with the dragons." The boy pointed out, his fingers absently brushing through the little lab puppy's hair.

"And the dragons liked having the prince with them, but the King refused to see reason."

"I bet Athewm was mad at the King?" Sam asked around a yawn.

"Oh yes," Jim nodded, solemnly. "Athewm took the job of being Samuel's personal guardian very seriously. Green dragons are incredibly loyal and protective, you know." Murphy met Dean's eyes, then glanced back to Sam. "And Athewm had taken care of young Samuel since he was a baby."

"They were family." Sam looked up at his brother when he felt Dean's hand come to rest on his head, his fingers slide through his long baby-fine hair. "Like me and Dean."

Jim swallowed hard. "Yes. Just like you and Dean, Sam."

The preacher cleared his throat. "But none of the dragons were happy with this King. Oh'nathan Jay was beside himself trying to come up with a plan to stop the King. And Cam and Asotrim were busy making sure he did not make matters worse with that dark temper of his."

"Because black dragons are the most fierce," Sam pointed out, sleepily.

"Yes." Murphy sighed. "I'm afraid their dark countenance is not a happy one in the best of times."

"What about Belac?" Sam asked, barely able to hold his eyes open now.

"Well you know how Belac is."

"He's an idiot," Dean mumbled, and Jim frowned at him.

"No he's not," Sam defended, his eyes widening against the heavy burden of exhaustion. "He's just a red dragon. And red dragons let their feelings get the best of them. Right, Pastor Jim?"

"I'm afraid so, Sammy." Murphy nodded. "Belac was so upset with the King because he was threatening the prince and upsetting everyone, especially Athewm," Jim pointedly stared at Dean, "that he attacked the King's army, and landed himself in a peck of trouble."

"But didn't he read the King's mind? Couldn't he tell what was going to happen?"

"Well, Sam, even smart, psychic, dragons like Belac make mistakes."

"And nearly get themselves killed." Dean spoke up again, quieter this time.

"Yes," Jim rubbed at his eyes. "Scales are not impenetrable."

"Was Belac okay?"

Dean and Jim shared a look over the little boy's head. "Of course," the priest said confidently. "Oh'nathan was able to rescue him in the nick of time, and Cam used his magic claws to heal him like new. He was fine, my boy."

Sam glanced up at Jim then, some other emotion besides weariness clouding the usual bright gaze. "Is Caleb going to be okay? He was bleeding really bad, and he wouldn't wake up, even when Daddy ordered him to."

The priest patted the boy's chest, wondering not for the first time if the child was finally outgrowing the land of dragons story he'd weaved for him since he was barely old enough to talk. "Caleb is going to be fine, Sam." The pastor raised his gaze to Dean, feeling the need to reassure the other boy also. "He should be home from the hospital tomorrow. Mac said he was already harrassing the doctors and flirting with the pretty nurses."

"Did he get hurt because of me?" There was a tremor in the little boy's voice.

"No." Murphy stated, emphatically, determined to erase any hint of guilt. "There is only one person responsible for this, Samuel, and that would be the Kin...I mean, Charles."

Sam turned to his brother then, his brown eyes filling. "I don't want to live with the King, Dean. I don't want to go with Charles. I want to stay with you and Daddy."

The teen's own eyes shone brightly as he pulled his brother closer to him, and glanced up at Jim. "Don't worry, Sammy. No one's taking you away from us. I promise."

Jim watched the boys for a moment, wishing he could spin some ending that would make it all better for them. But he was afraid tonight was only the beginning of the story, spiraling out of his narrative control, and he was quite certain there was no fairytale ending in sight.

_Coming Soon_


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